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3'*63 
A15 
1918 


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V 


THE     MODERN     LIBRARY 

OF  THE  WORLD'S  BEST  BOOKS 

CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 


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CREATURES  THAT 
ONCE   WERE    MEN 

By  maxim  GORKY 

Translated  from  the  Russian  by  J.  M.  SHIRAZI  and  Others 
Introduction  by  G.  K.  CHESTERTON 


^'fiRA<^^ 


THE    MODERN    LIBRARY 


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Copyright,  igi8,  by 
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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Inteoduction         .         .         .         .         . 

V 

Ckeatuees  That  Once  Weke  Men  . 

.       13 

Twenty-Six  Men  and  a  Giel  . 

.     104 

Chelkash      ..... 

.     135 

My  Fellow-Teavellee  . 

.     178 

On  a  Eaft 

.     329 

INTRODUCTION 

By  G.  K.  Chesterton 

It  is  certainly  a  curious  fact  that  so  many  of  the 
voices  of  what  is  called  our  modern  religion  have  come 
from  countries  which  are  not  only  simple,  but  may  even 
be  called  barbaric.  A  nation  like  Norway  has  a  great 
realistic  drama  without  having  ever  had  either  a  great 
classical  drama  or  a  great  romantic  drama.  A  nation 
like  Eussia  makes  us  feel  its  modern  fiction  when  we 
have  never  felt  its  ancient  fiction.  It  has  produced  its 
Gissing  without  producing  its  Scott.  Everything  that 
is  most  sad  and  scientific,  everything  that  is  most  grim 
and  analytical,  everything  that  can  truly  be  called  most 
modern,  everything  that  can  without  unreasonableness 
be  called  most  morbid,  comes  from  these  fresh  and  un- 
tried and  unexhausted  nationalities.  Out  of  these  in- 
fant peoples  come  the  oldest  voices  of  the  earth. 

This  contradiction,  like  many  other  contradictions,  is 
one  which  ought  first  of  all  to  be  registered  as  a  mere 
fact ;  long  before  we  attempt  to  explain  why  things  con- 
tradict themselves,  we  ought,  if  we  are  honest  men  and 
good  critics,  to  register  the  preliminary  truth  that  things 
do  contradict  themselves.  In  this  case,  as  I  say,  there  are 
many  possible  and  suggestive  explanations.  It  may  be, 
to  take  an  example,  that  our  modern  Europe  is  so  ex- 
hausted that  even  the  vigorous  expression  of  that  ex- 
haustion is  difficult  for  every  one  except  the  most  robust. 

V 


vi  INTEODUCTION 

It  may  be  that  all  the  nations  are  tired ;  and  it  may  be 
that  only  the  boldest  and  breeziest  are  not  too  tired  to 
say  that  they  are  tired.  It  may  be  that  a  man  like  Ibsen 
in  Norway  or  a  man  like  Gorky  in  Eussia  are  the  only 
people  left  who  have  so  much  faith  that  they  can  really 
believe  in  scepticism.  It  may  be  that  they  are  the  only 
people  left  who  have  so  much  animal  spirits  that  they 
can  really  feast  high  and  drink  deep  at  the  ancient  ban- 
quet of  pessimism.  This  is  one  of  the  possible  hypo- 
theses or  explanations  in  the  matter :  that  all  Europe 
feels  these  things  and  that  they  only  have  strength  to 
believe  them  also.  Many  other  explanations  might, 
however,  also  be  offered.  It  might  be  suggested  that 
half-barbaric  countries,  like  Russia  or  Norway,  which 
have  always  lain,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  circle  of  our  European  civilization,  have  a 
certain  primal  melancholy  which  belongs  to  them 
through  all  the  ages.  It  is  highly  probable  that  this  sad- 
ness, which  to  us  is  modern,  is  to  them  eternal.  It  is 
highly  probable  that  what  we  have  solemnly  and  sud- 
denly discovered  in  scientific  text-books  and  philosophi- 
cal magazines  they  absorbed  and  experienced  thousands 
of  years  ago,  when  they  offered  human  sacrifice  in  black 
and  cruel  forests  and  cried  to  their  gods  in  the  dark. 
Their  agnosticism  is  perhaps  merely  paganism;  their 
paganism,  as  in  old  times,  is  merely  devil-worship.  Cer- 
tainly, Schopenhauer  could  hardly  have  written  his  hide- 
ous essay  on  women  except  in  a  country  which  had  once 
been  full  of  slavery  and  the  service  of  fiends.  It  may 
be  that  these  moderns  are  tricking  us  altogether,  and 
are  hiding  in  their  current  scientific  jargon  things  that 


INTEODUCTION  vii 

they  knew  before  science  or  civilization  were.  They 
say  that  they  are  determinists ;  but  the  truth  is,  prob- 
ably, that  they  are  still  worshipping  the  Norns.  They 
say  that  they  describe  scenes  which  are  sickening  and 
dehumanizing  in  the  name  of  art  or  in  the  name  of 
truth;  but  it  may  be  that  they  do  it  in  the  name  of 
some  deity  indescribable,  whom  they  propitiated  with 
blood  and  terror  before  the  beginning  of  history. 

This  hypothesis,  like  the  hypothesis  mentioned  before 
it,  is  highly  disputable,  and  is  at  best  a  suggestion.  But 
there  is  one  broad  truth  in  the  matter  which  may  in 
any  case  be  considered  as  established.  A  country  like 
Russia  has  far  more  inherent  capacity  for  producing 
revolution  in  revolutionists  than  any  country  of  the  type 
of  England  or  America.  Communities  highly  civilized 
and  largely  urban  tend  to  a  thing  which  is  now  called 
evolution,  the  most  cautious  and  the  most  conservative 
of  all  social  influences.  The  loyal  Russian  obeys  the 
Czar  because  he  remembers  the  Czar  and  the  Czar's  im- 
portance. The  disloyal  Russian  frets  against  the  Czar 
because  he  also  remembers  the  Czar,  and  makes  a  note 
of  the  necessity  of  knifing  him.  But  the  loyal  English- 
man obeys  the  upper  classes  because  he  has  forgotten 
that  they  are  there.  Their  operation  has  become  to  him 
like  daylight,  or  gravitation,  or  any  of  the  forces  of  na- 
ture. And  there  are  no  disloyal  Englishmen;  there  are 
no  English  revolutionists,  because  the  oligarchic  man- 
agement of  England  is  so  complete  as  to  be  invisible. 
The  thing  which  can  once  get  itself  forgotten  can  make 
itself  omnipotent. 

Gorky  is  preeminently  Russian,  in  that  he  is  a  revolu- 


viii  INTRODUCTION" 

tionist;  not  because  most  Russians  are  revolutionists 
(for  I  imagine  that  they  are  not),  but  because  most 
Russians — indeed,  nearly  all  Russians — are  in  that  atti- 
tude of  mind  which  makes  revolution  possible,  and  which 
makes  religion  possible,  an  attitude  of  primary  and  dog- 
matic assertion.  To  be  a  revolutionist  it  is  first  neces- 
sary to  be  a  revelationist.  It  is  necessary  to  believe  in 
the  sufficiency  of  some  theory  of  the  universe  or  the 
State.  But  in  countries  that  have  come  under  the  influ- 
ence of  what  is  called  the  evolutionary  idea,  there  has 
been  no  dramatic  righting  of  wrongs,  and  (unless  the 
evolutionary  idea  loses  its  hold)  there  never  will  be. 
These  countries  have  no  revolution,  they  have  to  put 
Up  with  an  inferior  and  largely  fictitious  thing  which 
they  call  progress. 

The  interest  of  the  Gorky  tale,  like  the  interest  of  so 
many  other  Russian  masterpieces,  consists  in  this  sharp 
contact  between  a  simplicity,  which  we  in  the  West  feel 
to  be  very  old,  and  a  rebelliousness  which  we  in  the 
West  feel  to  be  very  new.  We  cannot  in  our  graduated 
and  polite  civilization  quite  make  head  or  tail  of  the 
Russian  anarch;  we  can  only  feel  in  a  vague  way  that 
his  tale  is  the  tale  of  the  Missing  Link,  and  that- his 
head  is  the  head  of  the  superman.  We  hear  his  lonely 
cry  of  anger.  But  we  cannot  be  quite  certain  whether 
his  protest  is  the  protest  of  the  first  anarchist  against 
government,  or  whether  it  is  the  protest  of  the  last  sav- 
age against  civilization.  The  cruelty  of  ages  and  of  po- 
litical cynicism  or  necessity  has  done  much  to  burden 
the  race  of  which  Gorky  writes ;  but  time  has  left  them 
one  thing  which  it  has  not  left  to  the  people  in  Poplar 


INTEODUCTION"  ix 

or  West  Ham.  It  has  left  them,  apparently,  the  clear 
and  childlike  power  of  seeing  the  cruelty  which  encom- 
passes them.  Gorky  is  a  tramp,  a  man  of  the  people, 
and  also  a  critic,  and  a  bitter  one.  In  the  West  poor 
men,  when  they  become  articulate  in  literature,  are 
always  sentimentalists  and  nearly  always  optimists. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  these  people  of  whom 
Gorky  writes  in  such  a  story  as  "Creatures  that  once 
were  Men"  are  to  the  Western  mind  children.  They 
have,  indeed,  been  tortured  and  broken  by  experience 
and  sin.  But  this  has  only  sufficed  to  make  them  sad 
children  or  naughty  children  or  bewildered  children. 
They  have  absolutely  no  trace  of  that  quality  upon 
which  secure  government  rests  so  largely  in  Western 
Europe,  the  quality  of  being  soothed  by  long  words  as  if 
by  an  incantation.  They  do  not  call  hunger  "economic 
pressure";  they  call  it  hunger.  They  do  not  call  rich 
men  "examples  of  capitalistic  concentration,"  they  call 
them  rich  men.  And  this  note  of  plainness  and  of  some- 
thing nobly  prosaic  is  as  characteristic  of  Gorky,  in 
some  ways  the  most  modern,  and  sophisticated  of  Rus- 
sian authors,  as  it  is  of  Tolstoy  or  any  of  the 
Tolstoyan  type  of  mind.  The  very  title  of  this 
story  strikes  the  note  of  this  sudden  and  simple 
vision.  The  philanthropist  writing  long  letters  to  the 
Daily  Telegraph  says,  of  men  living  in  a  slum,  that 
"their  degeneration  is  of  such  a  kind  as  almost  to  pass 
the  limits  of  the  semblance  of  humanity,"  and  we  read 
the  whole  thing  with  a  tepid  assent  as  we  should  read 
phrases  about  the  virtues  of  Queen  Victoria  or  the  dig- 
nity of  the  House  of  Commons.    The  Russian  novelist. 


X  INTEODUCTION 

•when  he  describes  a  dosshouse,  says,  "Creatures  that 
once  were  Men."  And  we  are  arrested,  and  regard  the 
facts  as  a  kind  of  terrible  fairy  tale.  This  story  is  a 
test  case  of  the  Eussian  manner,  for  it  is  in  itself  a  study 
of  decay,  a  study  of  failure,  and  a  study  of  old  age. 
And  yet  the  author  is  forced  to  write  even  of  staleness 
freshly;  and  though  he  is  treating  of  the  world  as  seen 
by  eyes  darkened  or  blood-shot  with  evil  experience,  his 
own  eyes  look  out  upon  the  scene  with  a  clarity  that  is 
almost  babyish.  Through  all  runs  that  curious  Russian 
sense  that  every  man  is  only  a  man,  which,  if  the  Rus- 
sians ever  are  a  democracy,  will  make  them  the  most 
democratic  democracy  that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
Take  this  passage,  for  instance,  from  the  austere  con- 
clusion of  "Creatures  that  once  were  Men" : 

Petunikoff  smiled  the  smile  of  the  conqueror  and  went 
back  into  the  dosshouse,  but  suddenly  he  slopped  and  trem- 
bled. At  the  door  facing  him  stood  an  old  man  with  a  stick 
in  his  hand  and  a  large  bag  on  his  back,  a  horrible  old  man 
in  rags  and  tatters,  which  covered  his  bony  figure.  He  bent 
under  the  weight  of  his  burden,  and  lowered  his  head  on 
his  breast,  as  if  he  wished  to  attack  the  merchant. 

"What  are  you?     Who  are  you?"  shouted  Petunikoff. 

"A  man  .  .  ."he  answered,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  This 
hoarseness  pleased  and  tranquillized  Petunikoff,  he  even 
smiled. 

"A  man!  And  are  there  really  men  like  you?"  Stepping 
aside,  he  let  the  old  man  pass.     He  went,  saying  slowly : 

"Men  are  of  various  kinds  ...  as  God  wills  .  .  .  There 
are  worse  than  me  .    .   .  still  worse  .   .   .  Yes  ..." 

Here,  in  the  very  act  of  describing  a  kind  of  a  fall 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

from  humanity,  Gorky  expresses  a  sense  of  the  strange- 
ness and  essential  value  of  the  human  being  which  is 
far  too  commonly  absent  altogether  from  such  complex 
civilizations  as  our  own.  To  no  Westerner,  I  am  afraid, 
would  it  occur,  when  asked  what  he  was,  to  say,  "A  man." 
He  would  be  a  plasterer  who  had  walked  from  Reading, 
or  an  iron-puddler  who  had  been  thrown  out  of  work  in 
Lancashire,  or  a  University  man  who  would  be  really 
most  grateful  for  the  loan  of  five  shillings,  or  the  son  of 
a  lieutenant-general  living  in  Brighton,  who  would  not 
have  made  such  an  application  if  he  had  not  known 
that  he  was  talking  to  another  gentleman.  With  us  it 
is  not  a  question  of  men  being  of  various  kinds ;  with  us 
the  kinds  are  almost  different  animals.  But  in  spite  of 
all  Gorky's  superficial  scepticism  and  brutality,  it  is  to 
him  the  fall  from  humanity,  or  the  apparent  fall  from 
humanity,  which  is  not  merely  great  and  lamentable,  but 
essential  and  even  mystical.  The  line  between  man  and 
the  beasts  is  one  of  the  transcendental  essentials  of 
every  religion ;  and  it  is,  like  most  of  the  transcendental 
things  of  religion,  identical  with  the  main  sentiments 
of  the  man  of  common  sense.  We  feel  this  gulf  when 
theologies  say  that  it  cannot  be  crossed.  But  we  feel 
it  quite  as  much  (and  that  with  a  primal  shudder)  when 
philosophers  or  fanciful  writers  suggest  that  it  might 
be  crossed.  And  if  any  man  wishes  to  discover  whether 
or  no  he  has  really  learned  to  regard  the  line  between 
man  and  brute  as  merely  relative  and  evolutionary,  let 
him  say  again  to  himself  those  frightful  words,  "Crea- 
tures that  once  were  Men.'' 

G.  K.  Chesterton. 


CREATURES     THAT     ONCE 
WERE      MEN 


CREATURES    THAT    ONCE 
WERE    MEN 

PAKT  I 

In  front  of  you  is  the  main  street,  with  two  rows  of 
miserable-looking  hnts  with  shuttered  windows  and  old 
walls  pressing  on  each  other  and  leaning  forward.  The 
roofs  of  these  time-worn  habitations  are  full  of  holes, 
and  have  been  patched  here  and  there  with  laths;  from 
underneath  them  project  mildewed  beams,  which  are 
shaded  by  the  dusty-leaved  elder-trees  and  crooked  white 
willows — pitiable  flora  of  those  suburbs  inhabited  by  the 
poor. 

The  dull  green  time-stained  panes  of  the  windows 
look  upon  each  other  with  the  cowardly  glances  of 
cheats.  Through  the  street  and  toward  the  adjacent 
mountain  runs  the  sinuous  path,  winding  through  the 
deep  ditches  filled  with  rain-water.  Here  and  there  are 
piled  heaps  of  dust  and  other  rubbish — either  refuse  or 
else  put  there  purposely  to  keep  the  rain-water  from 
flooding  the  houses.  On  the  top  of  the  mountain,  among 
green  gardens  with  dense  foliage,  beautiful  stone  houses 
lie  hidden;  the  belfries  of  the  churches  rise  proudly 
toward  the  sky,  and  their  gilded  crosses  shine  beneath 
the  rays  of  the  sun.  During  the  rainy  weather  the 
neighboring  town  pours  its  water  into  this  main  road, 
which,  at  other  times,  is  full  of  its  dust,  and  all  these 

13 


14       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

miserable  houses  seem,  as  it  were,  thrown  by  some  pow- 
erful hand  into  that  heap  of  dust,  rubbish,  and  rain- 
water. They  cling  to  the  ground  beneath  the  high 
mountain,  exposed  to  the  sun,  surrounded  by  decaying 
refuse,  and  their  sodden  appearance  impresses  one  with 
the  same  feeling  as  would  the  half-rotten  trunk  of  an 
old  tree. 

At  the  end  of  the  main  street,  as  if  thrown  out  of  the 
town,  stood  a  two-storied  house,  which  had  been  rented 
from  Petunikoff,  a  merchant  and  resident  of  the  town. 
It  was  in  comparatively  good  order,  being  farther  from 
the  mountain,  while  near  it  were  the  open  fields,  and 
about  half-a-mile  away  the  river  ran  its  winding  course. 

This  large  old  house  had  the  most  dismal  aspect  amid 
its  surroundings.  The  walls  bent  outward,  and  there 
was  hardly  a  pane  of  glass  in  any  of  the  windows,  ex- 
cept some  of  the  fragments,  which  looked  like  the  water 
of  the  marshes — dull  green.  The  spaces  of  wall  between 
the  windows  were  covered  with  spots,  as  if  time  were 
trying  to  write  there  in  hieroglyphics  the  history  of  the 
old  house,  and  the  tottering  roof  added  still  more  to  its 
pitiable  condition.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  building 
bent  toward  the  ground,  to  await  the  last  stroke  of  that 
fate  which  should  transform  it  into  a  chaos  of  rotting 
remains,  and  finally  into  dust. 

The  gates  were  open,  one-half  of  them  displaced  and 
lying  on  the  ground  at  the  entrance,  while  between  its 
bars  had  grown  the  grass,  which  also  covered  the  large 
and  empty  court-yard.  In  the  depths  of  this  yard  stood 
a  low,  iron-roofed,  smoke-begrimed  building.  The  house 
itself  was  of  course  unoccupied,  but  this  shed,  formerly 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   15 

a  blacksmith's  forge,  was  now  turned  into  a  "doss- 
house,"  kept  by  a  retired  captain  named  Aristid  Fomich 
Kuvalda. 

In  the  interior  of  the  dosshouse  was  a  long,  wide  and 
grimy  board,  measuring  some  28  by  70  feet.  The  roam 
was  lighted  on  one  side  by  four  small  square  windows, 
and  on  the  other  by  a  wide  door.  The  unpainted  brick 
walls  were  black  with  smoke,  and  the  ceiling,  which  was 
built  of  timber,  was  almost  black.  In  the  middle  stood 
a  large  stove,  the  furnace  of  which  served  as  its  founda- 
tion, and  around  this  stove  and  along  the  walls  were  also 
long,  wide  boards,  which  served  as  beds  for  the  lodgers. 
The  walls  smelt  of  smoke,  the  earthen  floor  of  dampness, 
and  the  long,  wide  board  of  rotting  rags. 

The  place  of  the  proprietor  was  on  the  top  of  the 
stove,  while  the  boards  surrounding  it  were  intended  for 
those  who  were  on  good  terms  with  the  owner,  and  who 
were  honored  by  his  friendship.  During  the  day  the 
captain  passed  most  of  his  time  sitting  on  a  kind  of 
bench,  made  by  himself  by  placing  bricks  against  the 
wall  of  the  court-yard,  or  else  in  the  eating-house  of 
Egor  Vavilovitch,  which  was  opposite  the  house,  where 
he  took  all  his  meals  and  where  he  also  drank  vodki. 

Before  renting  this  house,  Aristid  Kuvalda  had  kept  a 
registry  office  for  servants  in  the  town.  If  we  look  fur- 
ther back  into  his  former  life,  we  shall  find  that  he  once 
owned  printing  works,  and  previous  to  this,  in  his  own 
words,  he  "just  lived !  And  lived  well  too,  Devil  take 
it,  and  like  one  who  knew  how!" 

He  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  man  of  fifty,  with  a 
raw-looking  face,  swollen  with  drunkenness,  and  with  a 


16   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

dirty  yellowish  beard.  His  eyes  were  large  and  gray, 
with  an  insolent  expression  of  happiness.  He  spoke  in 
a  bass  voice  and  with  a  sort  of  grumbling  sound  in  his 
throat,  and  he  almost  always  held  between  his  teeth  a 
German  china  pipe  with  a  long  bowl.  When  he  was 
angry  the  nostrils  of  his  big,  crooked  red  nose  swelled, 
and  his  lips  trembled,  exposing  to  view  two  rows  of  large 
and  wolf-like  yellow  teeth.  He  had  long  arms,  was 
lame,  and  always  dressed  in  an  old  officer's  uniform, 
with  a  dirty,  greasy  cap  with  a  red  band,  a  hat  without 
a  brim,  and  ragged  felt  boots  which  reached  almost  to 
his  knees.  In  the  morning,  as  a  rule,  he  had  a  heavy 
drunken  headache,  and  in  the  evening  he  caroused. 
However  much  he  drank,  he  was  never  drunk,  and  so 
was  always  merry. 

In  the  evenings  he  received  lodgers,  sitting  on  his 
brick-made  bench  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

"Whom  have  we  here  ?"  he  would  ask  the  ragged  and 
tattered  object  approaching  him,  who  had  probably  been 
chucked  out  of  the  town  for  drunkenness,  or  perhaps  for 
some  other  reason  not  quite  so  simple.  And  after  the 
man  had  answered  him,  he  would  say,  "Let  me  see  legal 
papers  in  confirmation  of  your  lies."  And  if  there  were 
such  papers  they  were  shown.  The  captain  would  then 
put  them  in  his  bosom,  seldom  taking  any  interest  in 
them,  and  would  say: 

"Everything  is  in  order.  Two  kopecks  for  the  night, 
ten  kopecks  for  the  week,  and  thirty  kopecks  for  the 
month.  Go  and  get  a  place  for  yourself,  and  see  that  it 
is  not  other  people's,  or  else  they  will  blow  you  up.  The 
people  that  live  here  are  particular.'* 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN"   17 

"Don't  you  sell  tea,  bread,  or  anything  to  eat?" 

**I  trade  only  in  walls  and  roofs,  for  which  I  pay  to 
the  swindling  proprietor  of  this  hole — Judas  Petuni- 
koif,  merchant  of  the  second  guild — five  roubles  a 
month,"  explained  Kuvalda  in  a  business-like  tone. 
"Only  those  come  to  me  who  are  not  accustomed  to  com- 
fort and  luxuries  ....  but  if  you  are  accustomed 
to  eat  every  day,  then  there  is  the  eating-house  opposite. 
But  it  would  be  better  for  you  if  you  left  off  that  habit. 
You  see  you  are  not  a  gentleman.  What  do  you  eat? 
You  eat  yourself !" 

For  such  speeches,  delivered  in  a  strictly  business-like 
manner,  and  always  with  smiling  eyes,  and  also  for  the 
attention  he  paid  to  his  lodgers,  the  captain  was  very 
popular  among  the  poor  of  the  town.  It  very  often 
happened  that  a  former  client  of  his  would  appear,  not 
in  rags,  but  in  something  more  respectable  and  with  a 
slightly  happier  face. 

"Good-day,  your  honor,  and  how  do  you  do?" 

"Alive,  in  good  health !    Go  on." 

"Don't  you  know  me?" 

"I  did  not  know  you." 

"Do  you  remember  that  I  lived  with  you  last  winter 
for  nearly  a  month  ....  when  the  fight  with  the 
police  took  place,  and  three  were  taken  away?" 

"My  brother,  that  is  so.  The  police  do  come  even 
tmder  my  hospitable  roof !" 

"My  God !  You  gave  a  piece  of  your  mind  to  t^e 
police  inspector  of  this  district!" 

'^Wouldn't  you  accept  some  small  hospitality  from 
me  ?    When  I  lived  with  you,  you  were    .    .    ." 


18       CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEKE  MEN 

"Gratitude  must  be  encouraged  because  it  is  seldoin 
met  with.  You  seem  to  be  a  good  man,  and,  though  I 
don't  remember  you,  still  I  will  go  with  you  into  the 
public-house  and  drink  to  your  success  and  future  pros- 
pects with  the  greatest  pleasure/' 

"You  seem  always  the  same  ....  Are  you  always 
joking  ?" 

"What  else  can  one  do,  living  among  you  unfortunate 
men  ?" 

They  went.  Sometimes  the  Captain's  former  cus- 
tomer, uplifted  and  unsettled  by  the  entertainment, 
returned  to  the  dosshouse,  and  on  the  following  morning 
they  would  again  begin  treating  each  other  till  the  Cap- 
tain's companion  would  wake  up  to  realize  that  he  had 
spent  all  his  money  in  drink. 

"Your  honor,  do  you  see  that  I  have  again  fallen  into 
your  hands?    What  shall  we  do  now?" 

"The  position,  no  doubt,  is  not  a  very  good  one,  but 
still  you  need  not  trouble  about  it,"  reasoned  the  Cap- 
tain. "You  must,  my  friend,  treat  everything  indiffer- 
ently, without  spoiling  yourself  by  philosophy,  and  with- 
out asking  yourself  any  question.  To  philosophize  is 
always  foolish ;  to  philosophize  with  a  drunken  headache, 
ineffably  so.  Drunken  headaches  require  vodki,  and  not 
the  remorse  of  conscience  or  gnashing  of  teeth  .  .  . 
save  your  teeth,  or  else  you  will  not  be  able  to  protect 
yourself.  Here  are  twenty  kopecks.  Go  and  buy  a  bot- 
tle of  vodki  for  five  kopecks,  hot  tripe  or  lungs,  one 
pound  of  bread  and  two  cucimibers.  When  we  have  lived 
off  our  drunken  headache  we  will  think  of  the  condition 
of  affairs    .    .    ." 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   19 

As  a  rule  the  consideration  of  the  "condition  of  af- 
fairs" lasted  some  two  or  three  days,  and  only  when 
the  Captain  had  not  a  farthing  left  of  the  three  roubles 
or  five  roubles  given  him  by  his  grateful  customer  did 
he  say: 

"You  came !  Do  you  see  ?  Now  that  we  have  drunk 
everything  with  you,  you  fool,  try  again  to  regain  the 
path  of  virtue  and  soberness.  It  has  been  truly  said 
that  if  you  do  not  sin,  you  will  not  repent,  and,  if  you 
do  not  repent,  you  shall  not  be  saved.  We  have  done 
the  first,  and  to  repent  is  useless.  Let  us  make  direct 
for  salvation.  Go  to  the  river  and  work,  and  if  you 
think  you  cannot  control  yourself,  tell  the  contractor, 
your  employer,  to  keep  your  money,  or  else  give  it  to 
me.  When  you  get  sufficient  capital,  I  will  get  you  a 
pair  of  trousers  and  other  things  necessary  to  make 
you  seem  a  respectable  and  hard-working  man,  perse- 
cuted by  fate.  With  decent-looking  trousers  you  can  go 
far.    Now  then,  be  off !" 

Then  the  client  would  go  to  the  river  to  work  as  a 
porter,  smiling  the  while  over  the  Captain's  long  and 
wise  speeches.  He  did  not  distinctly  understand  them, 
but  only  saw  in  front  of  him  two  merry  eyes,  felt  their 
encouraging  influence,  and  knew  that  in  the  loquacious 
Captain  he  had  an  arm  that  would  assist  him  in  time  of 
need. 

And  really  it  happened  very  often  that,  for  a  month 
or  so,  some  ticket-of-leave  client,  under  the  strict  sur- 
veillance of  the  Captain,  had  the  opportunity  of  raising 
himself  to  a  condition  better  than  that  to  which,  thanks 
to  the  Captain's  cooperation,  he  had  fallen. 


20   CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"Now,  then,  my  friend !"  said  the  Captain,  glancing 
critically  at  the  restored  client,  "we  have  a  coat  and 
jacket.  When  I  had  respectable  trousers  I  lived  in  town 
like  a  respectable  man.  But  when  the  trousers  wore 
out,  I,  too,  fell  off  in  the  opinion  of  my  fellow-men 
and  had  to  come  down  here  from  the  town.  Men,  my 
fine  mannikin,  judge  everything  by  the  outward  appear- 
ance, while,  owing  to  their  foolishness,  the  actual  reality 
of  things  is  incomprehensible  to  them.  Make  a  note  of 
this  on  your  nose,  and  pay  me  at  least  half  your  debt. 
Go  in  peace;  seek,  and  you  may  find." 

"How  much  do  I  owe  you,  Aristid  Eomich  ?"  asks  the 
client,  in  confusion. 

"One  rouble  and  70  kopecks.  .  .  .  Now,  give  me 
only  one  rouble,  or,  if  you  like,  70  kopecks,  and  as  for 
the  rest,  I  shall  wait  until  you  have  earned  more  than 
you  have  now  by  stealing  or  by  hard  work,  it  does  not 
matter  to  me." 

"I  thank  you  humbly  for  your  kindness !"  says  the 
client,  touched  to  the  heart.  "Truly  you  are  a  kind  man. 
.  .  .  .  ;  Life  has  persecuted  you  in  vain.  .  .  .  What 
an  eagle  you  would  have  been  in  your  own  place !" 

The  Captain  could  not  live  without  eloquent  speeches. 

"What  does  'in  my  own  place'  mean?  No  one  really 
knows  his  own  place  in  life,  and  every  one  of  us  crawls 
into  his  harness.  The  place  of  the  merchant  Judas  Pe- 
tunikoff  ought  to  be  in  penal  servitude,  but  he  still  walks 
through  the  streets  in  daylight,  and  even  intends  to 
build  a  factory.  The  place  of  our  teacher  ought  to  be 
beside  a  wife  and  half-a-dozen  children,  but  he  is  loiter- 
ing in  the  public-house  of  Yaviloff.    And  then,  there  is 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   21 

yourself.  You  are  going  to  seek  a  situation  as  a  hall 
porter  or  waiter,  but  I  can  see  that  you  ought  to  be  a 
soldier  in  the  army,  because  you  are  no  fool,  are  patient 
and  understand  discipline.  Life  shuffles  us  like  cards, 
you  see,  and  it  is  only  accidentally,  and  only  for  a  time, 
that  we  fall  into  our  own  places !" 

Such  farewell  speeches  often  served  as  a  preface  to  the 
continuation  of  their  acquaintance,  which  again  began 
with  drinking  and  went  so  far  that  the  client  would 
spend  his  last  farthing.  Then  the  Captain  would  stand 
him  treat,  and  they  would  drink  all  they  had. 

A  repetition  of  similar  doings  did  not  affect  in  the 
least  the  good  relations  of  the  parties. 

The  teacher  mentioned  by  the  Captain  was  another  of 
those  customers  who  were  thus  reformed  only  in  order 
that  they  should  sin  again.  Thanks  to  his  intellect,  he 
was  the  nearest  in  rank  to  the  Captain,  and  this  was 
probably  the  cause  of  his  falling  so  low  as  dosshouse  life, 
and  of  his  inability  to  rise  again.  It  was  only  with  him 
that  Aristid  Kuvalda  could  philosophize  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  being  understood.  He  valued  this,  and  when  the 
reformed  teacher  prepared  to  leave  the  dosshouse  in  order 
to  get  a  corner  in  town  for  himself,  then  Aristid  Kuvalda 
accompanied  him  so  sorrowfully  and  sadly  that  it  ended, 
as  a  rule,  in  their  both  getting  drunk  and  spending  all 
their  money.  Probably  Kuvalda  arranged  the  matter 
intentionally  so  that  the  teacher  could  not  leave  the 
dosshouse,  though  he  desired  to  do  so  with  all  his  heart. 
Was  it  possible  for  Aristid  Kuvalda,  a  nobleman  (as  was 
evident  from  his  speeches),  one  who  was  accustomed  to 
think,  though  the  turn  of  fate  may  have  changed  his 


22       CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

position,  was  it  possible  for  him  not  to  desire  to  have 
close  to  him  a  man  like  himself  ?  We  can  pity  our  own 
faults  in  others. 

This  teacher  had  once  taught  at  an  institution  in  one 
of  the  towns  on  the  Volga,  but  in  consequence  of  some 
story  was  dismissed.  After  this  he  was  a  clerk  in  a  tan- 
nery, but  again  had  to  leave.  Then  he  became  a  libra- 
rian in  some  private  library,  subsequently  following 
other  professions.  Finally,  after  passing  examinations 
in  law  he  became  a  lawyer,  but  drink  reduced  him  to 
the  Captain's  dosshouse.  He  was  tall,  round-shouldered, 
with  a  long,  sharp  nose  and  bald  head.  In  his  bony 
and  yellow  face,  on  which  grew  a  wedge-shaped  beard, 
shone  large,  restless  eyes,  deeply  sunk  in  their  sockets, 
and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drooped  sadly  down.  He 
earned  his  bread,  or  rather  his  drink,  by  reporting  for 
the  local  papers.  He  sometimes  earned  as  much  as  fif- 
teen roubles.    These  he  gave  to  the  Captain  and  said : 

"It  is  enough.  I  am  going  back  into  the  bosom  of 
culture.  Another  week's  hard  work  and  I  shall  dress 
respectably,  and  then  Addio,  mio  caro!" 

"Very  exemplary!  As  I  heartily  sympathize  with 
your  decision,  Philip,  I  shall  not  give  you  another  glass 
all  this  week,"  the  Captain  warned  him  sternly. 

"I  shall  be  thankful !  .  .  .  .  You  will  not  give  me 
one  drop?" 

The  Captain  heard  in  his  voice  a  beseeching  note  to 
which  he  turned  a  deaf  ear. 

"Even  though  you  roar,  I  shall  not  give  it  you !" 

"As  you  like,  then,"  sighed  the  teacher,  and  went 
away  to  continue  his  reporting.    But  after  a  day  or  two 


CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN"       23 

he  would  return  tired  and  thirsty,  and  would  look  at 
the  Captain  with  a  beseeching  glance  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  eyes,  hoping  that  his  friend's  heart  would  soften. 

The  Captain  in  such  cases  put  on  a  serious  face  and 
began  speaking  with  killing  irony  on  the  theme  of  weak- 
ness of  character,  of  the  animal  delight  of  intoxication, 
and  on  such  subjects  as  suited  the  occasion.  One  must 
do  him  justice :  he  was  captivated  by  his  role  of  mentor 
and  moralist,  but  the  lodgers  dogged  him,  and,  listen- 
ing sceptically  to  his  exhortations  to  repentance,  would 
whisper  aside  to  each  other : 

"Cunning,  skilful,  shifty  rogue !  I  told  you  so,  but 
you  would  not  listen.    It's  your  own  fault  V 

"His  honor  is  really  a  good  soldier.  He  goes  first  and 
examines  the  road  behind  him !" 

The  teacher  then  hunted  here  and  there  till  he  found 
his  friend  again  in  some  corner,  and  grasping  his  dirty 
coat,  trembling  and  licking  his  dry  lips,  looked  into  his 
face  with  a  deep,  tragic  glance,  without  articulate  words. 

"Can't  you  ?"  asked  the  Captain  sullenly. 

The  teacher  answered  by  bowing  his  head  and  letting 
it  fall  on  his  breast,  his  tall,  thin  body  trembling  the 
while. 

*^ait  another  day  .  .  .  perhaps  you  will  be  all  right 
then,"  proposed  Kuvalda.  The  teacher  sighed,  and 
shook  his  head  hopelessly. 

The  Captain  saw  that  his  friend's  thin  body  trembled 
with  the  thirst  for  the  poison,  and  took  some  money 
from  his  pocket. 

"In  the  majority  of  cases  it  is  impossible  to  fight 
against  fate,"  said  he,  as  if  trying  to  justify  himself 


24   CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

before  someone.  But  if  the  teacher  controlled  himself 
for  a  whole  week,  then  there  was  a  touching  farewell 
scene  between  the  two  friends,  which  ended  as  a  rule 
in  the  eating-house  of  Vaviloff.  The  teacher  did  not 
spend  all  his  money,  but  spent  at  least  half  on  the  chil- 
dren of  the  main  street.  The  poor  are  always  rich  in 
children,  and  in  the  dirt  and  ditches  of  this  street  there 
were  groups  of  them  from  morning  to  night,  hungry, 
naked  and  dirty.  Children  are  the  living  flowers  of  the 
earth,  but  these  had  the  appearance  of  flowers  that  have 
faded  prematurely,  because  they  grew  in  ground  where 
there  was  no  healthy  nourishment.  Often  the  teacher 
would  gather  them  round  him,  would  buy  them  bread, 
eggs,  apples  and  nuts,  and  take  them  into  the  fields  by 
the  river  side.  There  they  would  sit  and  greedily  eat 
everything  he  ofi'ered  them,  after  which  they  would 
begin  to  play,  filling  the  fields  for  a  mile  around  with 
careless  noise  and  laughter.  The  tall,  thin  figure  of  the 
drunkard  towered  above  these  small  people,  who  treated 
him  familiarly,  as  if  he  were  one  of  their  own  age.  They 
called  him  "Philip,"  and  did  not  trouble  to  prefix 
"Uncle"  to  his  name.  Playing  around  him,  like  little 
wild  animals,  they  pushed  him,  jumped  upon  his  back, 
beat  him  upon  his  bald  head,  and  caught  hold  of  hia 
nose.  All  this  must  have  pleased  him,  as  he  did  not 
protest  against  such  liberties.  He  spoke  very  little  to 
them,  and  when  he  did  so  he  did  it  cautiously  as  if 
afraid  that  his  words  would  hurt  or  contaminate  them. 
He  passed  many  hours  thus  as  their  companion  and 
plaything,  watching  their  lively  faces  with  his  gloomy 
eyes.    Then  he  would  thoughtfully  and  slowly  direct  his 


CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN      25 

steps  to  the  eating-house  of  Vaviloff,  where  he  would 
drink  silently  and  quickly  till  all  his  senses  left  him. 


Almost  every  day  after  his  reporting  he  would  bring 
a  newspaper,  and  then  gather  round  him  all  these 
creatures  that  once  were  men.  On  seeing  him,  they 
would  come  forward  from  all  corners  of  the  court-yard, 
drunk,  or  suffering  from  drunken  headache,  dishevelled, 
tattered,  miserable,  and  pitiable.  Then  would  come  the 
barrel-like,  stout  Aleksei  Maksim ovitch  Simtsoff,  for- 
merly Inspector  of  Woods  and  Forests,  under  the  De- 
partment of  Appendages,  but  now  trading  in  matches, 
ink,  blacking,  and  lemons.  He  was  an  old  man  of 
sixty,  in  a  canvas  overcoat  and  a  wide-brimmed  hat, 
the  greasy  borders  of  which  hid  his  stout,  fat,  red  face. 
He  had  a  thick  white  beard,  out  of  which  a  small  red 
nose  turned  gaily  heavenward.  He  had  thick,  crimson 
lips  and  watery,  cynical  eyes.  They  called  him  "Kubar," 
a  name  which  well  described  his  round  figure  and  buzz- 
ing speech.  After  him,  Kanets  appeared  from  some 
corner — a  dark,  sad-looking,  silent  drunkard :  then  the 
former  governor  of  the  prison,  Luka  Antonovitch  Mar- 
tyanoff,  a  man  who  existed  on  "remeshok,"  "trilistika," 
and  *^ankovka,"  *  and  many  such  cunning  games,  not 
much  appreciated  by  the  police.     He  would  throw  his 


Ifote  hij  translator. — Well-known  games  of  chance,  played 
by  the  lower  classes.  The  police  specially  endeavor  to  stop 
them,  but  uiisnccessfully. 


26     CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

hard  and  oft-scourged  body  on  the  grass  beside  the 
teacher,  and,  turning  his  eyes  round  and  scratching  his 
head,  would  ask  in  a  hoarse,  bass  voice,  ' '  May  I  ? " 

Then  appeared  Pavel  Solntseff,  a  man  of  thirty  years 
of  age,  suffering  from  consumption.  The  ribs  of  his  left 
side  had  been  broken  in  a  quarrel,  and  the  sharp,  yellow 
face,  like  that  of  a  fox,  always  wore  a  malicious  smile. 
The  thin  lips,  when  opened,  exposed  two  rows  of  de- 
cayed black  teeth,  and  the  rags  on  his  shoulders  swayed 
backward  and  forward  as  if  they  were  hung  on  a  clothes- 
pole.  They  called  him  "Abyedok."  He  hawked  brushes 
and  bath  brooms  of  his  own  manufacture,  good,  strong 
brushes  made  from  a  peculiar  kind  of  grass. 

Then  followed  a  lean  and  bony  man  of  whom  no  one 
knew  anything,  with  a  frightened  expression  in  his  eyes, 
the  left  one  of  which  had  a  squint.  He  was  silent  and 
timid,  and  had  been  imprisoned  three  times  for  theft  by 
the  High  Court  of  Justice  and  the  Magisterial  Courts. 
His  family  name  was  Kiselnikoff,  but  they  called  him 
Paltara  Taras,  because  he  was  a  head  and  shoulders 
taller  than  his  friend.  Deacon  Taras,  who  had  been  de- 
graded from  his  office  for  drunkenness  and  immorality. 
The  Deacon  was  a  short,  thick-set  person,  with  the  chest 
of  an  athlete  and  a  round,  strong  head.  He  danced  skil- 
fully, and  was  still  more  skilful  at  swearing.  He  and 
Paltara  Taras  worked  in  the  wood  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  in  free  hours  he  told  his  friend  or  any  one 
who  would  listen,  "Tales  of  my  own  composition,"  as  he 
used  to  say.  On  hearing  these  stories,  the  heroes  of 
which  always  seemed  to  be  saints,  kings,  priests,  or  gen- 
erals, even  the  inmates  of  the  dosshouse  spat  and  rubbed 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   27 

their  eyes  in  astonishment  at  the  imagination  of  the 
Deacon,  who  told  them  shameless  tales  of  lewd,  fantastic 
adventures,  with  blinking  eyes  and  a  passionless  expres- 
sion of  countenance.  The  imagination  of  this  man  was 
powerful  and  inexhaustible ;  he  could  go  on  relating  and 
composing  all  day,  from  morning  to  night,  without  once 
repeating  what  he  had  said  before.  In  his  expression 
you  sometimes  saw  the  poet  gone  astray,  sometimes  the 
romancer,  and  he  always  succeeded  in  making  his  tales 
realistic  by  the  effective  and  powerful  words  in  which 
he  told  them. 

There  was  also  a  foolish  young  man  called  Kuvalda 
Meteor.  One  night  he  came  to  sleep  in  the  dosshouse, 
and  had  remained  ever  since  among  these  men,  much 
to  their  astonishment.  At  first  they  did  not  take  much 
notice  of  him.  In  the  daytime,  like  all  the  others,  he 
went  away  to  find  something  to  eat,  but  at  nights  he 
always  loitered  around  this  friendly  company  till  at  last 
the  Captain  took  notice  of  him. 

"Boy !    What  business  have  you  here  on  this  earth  ?" 

The  boy  answered  boldly  and  stoutly: 

"I  am  a  barefooted  tramp  .   .   .   ." 

The  Captain  looked  critically  at  him.  This  youngster 
had  long  hair  and  a  weak  face,  with  prominent  cheek- 
bones and  a  turned-up  nose.  He  was  dressed  in  a  blue 
blouse  without  a  waistband,  and  on  his  head  he  wore  the 
remains  of  a  straw  hat,  while  his  feet  were  bare. 

"You  are  a  fool !"  decided  Aristid  Kuvalda.  '*WTiat 
are  you  knocking  about  here  for  ?  You  are  of  absolutely 
no  use  to  us  .  .  .Do  you  drink  vodki  ?  .  .  .  No  ?  .  .  . 
Well,  then,  can  you  steal?"    Again,  "No."    "Go  away, 


28   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

learn,  and  come  back  again  when  you  know  something, 
and  are  a  man  ..." 

The  youngster  smiled. 

"No.    I  shall  live  with  you." 

*^Vhy?" 

"Just  because  ..." 

"Oh,  you  .   .   .  Meteor !"  said  the  Captain. 

"I  will  break  his  teeth  for  him,"  sansfMartyanoff. 

"And  why  ?"  asked  the  youngster. 

"Just  because.  ..." 

"And  I  will  take  a  stone  and  hit  you  on  the  head," 
the  young  man  answered  respectfully. 

Martyanoff  would  have  broken  his  bv^nes,  had  not 
Kuvalda  interrupted  with : 

"Leave  him  alone.  ...  Is  this  a  home  to  you  or 
even  to  us?  You  have  no  sufficient  reason  to  break  his 
teeth  for  him.  You  have  no  better  reason  than  he  for 
living  with  us," 

"Well,  then,  Devil  take  him !  .  .  .  We  all  live  in  the 
world  without  sufficient  reason.  .  .  .  We  live,  and  why  ? 
Because !    He  also  because  ...  let  him  alone.  ..." 

"But  it  is  better  for  you,  young  man,  to  go  away  from 
us,"  the  teacher  advised  him,  looking  him  up  and  down 
with  his  sad  eyes.  He  made  no  answer,  but  remained. 
And  they  soon  became  accustomed  to  his  presence,  and 
ceased  to  take  any  notice  of  him.  But  he  lived  among 
them,  and  observed  everything. 

The  above  were  the  chief  members  of  the  Captain's 
company,  and  he  called  them  with  kind-hearted  sarcasm 
"Creatures  that  once  were  Men,"  For  though  there 
were  men  who  had  experienced  as  much  of  the  bitter 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   29 

irony  of  fate  as  these  men,  yet  they  were  not  fallen 
so  low.  Not  infrequently,  respectable  men  belonging 
to  the  cultured  classes  are  inferior  to  those  belonging 
to  the  peasantry,  and  it  is  always  a  fact  that  the  de- 
praved man  from  the  city  is  immeasurably  worse  than 
the  depraved  man  from  the  village.  This  fact  was  strik- 
ingly illustrated  by  the  contrast  between  the  formerly 
well-educated  ni. Ji  and  the  mujiks  who  were  living  in 
Kuvalda*s  shelter. 

The  rep  -esentative  of  the  latter  class  was  an  old  mujik 
called  Tyapa.  Tall  and  angular,  he  kept  his  head  in 
such  a  position  that  his  chin  touched  his  breast.  He 
was  the  CaptaiiL's  first  lodger,  and  it  was  said  of  him 
that  he  had  a  great  deal  of  money  hidden  somewhere, 
and  for  its  sake  had  nearly  had  his  throat  cut  some 
two  years  ago :  ever  since  then  he  carried  his  head  thus. 
Over  his  eyes  hung  grayish  eyebrows,  and,  looked  at  in 
profile,  only  his  crooked  nose  was  to  be  seen.  His 
shadow  reminded  one  of  a  poker.  He  denied  that  he 
had  money,  and  said  that  they  "only  tried  to  cut  his 
throat  out  of  malice,"  and  from  that  day  he  took  to 
collecting  rags,  and  that  is  why  his  head  was  always 
bent  as  if  incessantly  looking  on  the  ground.  When  he 
went  about  shaking  his  head,  and  minus  a  walking-stick 
in  his  hand,  and  a  bag  on  his  back — the  signs  of  his  pro- 
fession— he  seemed  to  be  thinking  almost  to  madness, 
and,  at  such  times,  Kuvalda  spoke  thus,  pointing  to  him 
with  his  finger: 

'^Look,  there  is  the  conscience  of  Merchant  Judas 
Petunikoff.  See  how  disorderly,  dirty,  and  low  is  the 
escaped  conscience." 


30       CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Tyapa,  as  a  rule,  spoke  in  a  hoarse  and  hardly  audible 
voice,  and  that  is  why  he  spoke  very  little,  and  loved 
to  be  alone.  But  whenever  a  stranger,  compelled  to 
leave  the  village,  appeared  in  the  dosshouse,  Tyapa 
seemed  sadder  and  angrier,  and  followed  the  unfortunate 
about  with  biting  jeers  and  a  wicked  chuckling  in  his 
throat.  He  either  put  some  beggar  against  him,  or  him- 
self threatened  to  rob  and  beat  him,  till  the  frightened 
mujik  would  disappear  from  the  dosshouse  and  never 
more  be  seen.  Then  Tyapa  was  quiet  again,  and  would 
sit  in  some  corner  mending  his  rags,  or  else  reading  his 
Bible,  which  was  as  dirty,  worn,  and  old  as  himself. 
Only  when  the  teacher  brought  a  newspaper  and  began 
reading  did  he  come  from  his  corner  once  more.  As  a 
rule,  Tyapa  listened  to  what  was  read  silently  and  sighed 
often,  without  asking  anything  of  anyone.  But  once 
when  the  teacher,  having  read  the  paper,  wanted  to  put 
it  away,  Tyapa  stretched  out  his  bony  hand,  and  said, 
"Give  it  to  me  .   .   ." 

"What  do  you  want  it  for?" 

"Give  it  to  me  .  .  .  Perhaps  there  is  something  in  it 
about  us  .    .    ." 

"About  whom  ?" 

"About  the  village." 

They  laughed  at  him,  and  threw  him  the  paper.  He 
took  it,  and  read  in  it  how  in  the  village  the  hail  had 
destroyed  the  cornfields,  how  in  another  village  fire 
destroyed  thirty  houses,  and  that  in  a  third  a  woman 
had  poisoned  her  family — in  fact,  everything  that  it  is 
customary  to  write  of — everything,  that  is  to  say,  which 
is  bad,  and  which  depicts  only  the  worst  side  of  the  un- 


CEEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN"      31 

fortunate  village.  Tyapa  read  all  this  silently  and 
roared,  perhaps  from  sympathy,  perhaps  from  delight 
at  the  sad  news. 

He  passed  the  whole  Sunday  in  reading  his  Bible, 
and  never  went  out  collecting  rags  on  that  day.  While 
reading,  he  groaned  and  sighed  continually.  He  kept 
the  book  close  to  his  breast,  and  was  angry  with  any 
one  who  interrupted  him  or  who  touched  his  Bible. 

"Oh,  you  drunken  blackguard,"  said  Kuvalda  to  him, 
"what  do  you  understand  of  it?" 

"Nothing,  wizard  !  I  don't  understand  anything,  and 
I  do  not  read  any  books  .   .   .  But  I  read  ..." 

"Therefore  you  are  a  fool  ..."  said  the  Captain,  de- 
cidedly. "When  there  are  insects  in  your  head,  you 
know  it  is  uncomfortable,  but  if  some  thoughts  enter 
there  too,  how  will  you  live  then,  you  old  toad?" 

"I  have  not  long  to  live,"  said  Tyapa,  quietly. 

Once  the  teacher  asked  how  he  had  learned  to  read. 

"In  prison,"  answered  Tyapa  shortly. 

*rHave  you  been  there?" 

"I  was  there.  ..." 

"For  what?" 

"Just  so.  ,  .  .  It  was  a  mistake.  .  .  .  But  I  brought 
the  Bible  out  with  me  from  there.  A  lady  gave  it  to 
me.  .   .   .  It  is  good  in  prison,  brother." 

"Is  that  so?    And  why?" 

"It  teaches  one.  ...  I  learned  to  read  there.  .  .  . 
I  also  got  this  book.  .  .  .  And  all  these  you  see^ 
free.  ..." 

When  the  teacher  appeared  in  the  dosshouse,  Tyapa 
bad  already  lived  there  for  some  time.    He  looked  lon^ 


32   CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

into  the  teacher's  face,  as  if  to  discover  what  kind  of  a 
man  he  was. 

Tyapa  often  listened  to  his  conversation,  and  once, 
sitting  down  beside  him,  said : 

"I  see  you  are  very  learned.  .  .  .  Have  you  read  the 
Bible?" 

"I  have  read  it.  ..." 

"I  see ;  I  see.  .  .  .  Can  you  remember  it  ?" 

"Yes.  ...  I  remember  it.  ..." 

Then  the  old  man  leaned  to  one  side  and  gazed  at  the 
other  with  a  serious,  suspicious  glance. 

"There  were  the  Amalekites,  do  you  remember  ?"     . 

"Well?" 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

"Disappeared  .  .  .  Tyapa  .   .  ,  died  out  ..." 

The  old  man  was  silent,  then  asked  again:  "And 
where  are  the  Philistines?" 

"These  also  ..." 

"Have  all  these  died  out?" 

*^es  ...  all  .   .   ." 

**And  so  ...  we  also  will  die  out?" 

"There  will  come  a  time  when  we  also  will  die,"  said 
the  teacher  indifferently. 

"And  to  what  tribe  of  Israel  do  we  belong?" 

The  teacher  looked  at  him,  and  began  telling  him 
about  Scythians  and  Slavs.  .   .   . 

The  old  man  became  all  the  more  frightened,  and 
glanced  at  his  face. 

"You  are  lying !"  he  said  scornfully,  when  the  teacher 
had  finished. 

"What  lie  have  I  told?"  asked  the  teacher. 


CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN       33 

"You  mentioned  tribes  that  are  not  mentioned  in  the 
Bible." 

He  got  up  and  walked  away,  angry  and  deeply  in- 
sulted. 

"You  will  go  mad,  Tyapa,"  called  the  teacher  after 
him  with  conviction. 

Then  the  old  man  came  back  again,  and  stretching 
out  his  hand,  threatened  him  with  his  crooked  and  dirty 
finger. 

"God  made  Adam — from  Adam  were  descended  the 
Jews,  that  means  that  all  people  are  descended  from 
Jews  .    .   .  and  we  also  ..." 

*^ell?" 

"Tartars  are  descended  from  Ishmael,  but  he  also 
came  of  the  Jews  ..." 

"What  do  you  want  to  tell  me  all  this  for  ?" 

"Nothing!  Only  why  do  you  tell  lies?"  Then  he 
walked  away,  leaving  his  companion  in  perplexity.  But 
after  two  days  he  came  again  and  sat  by  him. 

"You  are  learned  .  .  .  Tell  me,  then,  whose  descen- 
dants are  we  ?    Are  we  Babylonians,  or  who  are  we  ?" 

^^Ve  are  Slavs,  Tyapa,"  said  the  teacher,  and  atten- 
tively awaited  his  answer,  wishing  to  understand  him. 

"Speak  to  me  from  the  Bible.  There  are  no  such 
men  there." 

Then  the  teacher  began  criticizing  the  Bible.  The 
old  man  listened,  and  interrupted  him  after  a  long 
while. 

"Stop  .  .  .  Wait!  That  means  that  among  people 
known  to  God  there  are  no  Russians?  We  are  not 
known  to  God  ?    Is  it  so  ?    God  knew  all  those  who  are 


34   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

mentioned  in  the  Bible  .  .  .  He  destroyed  them  by 
sword  and  fire,  He  destroyed  their  cities;  but  He  also 
sent  prophets  to  teach  them.  That  means  that  He  also 
pitied  them.  He  scattered  the  Jews  and  the  Tartars 
.  .  .  But  what  about  us?  Why  have  we  prophets  no 
longer  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know !"  replied  the  teacher,  trying  to 
understand  the  old  man.  But  the  latter  put  his  hand  on 
the  teacher's  shoulder,  and  slowly  pushed  him  backward 
and  forward,  and  his  throat  made  a  noise  as  if  he  were 
swallowing  something 

"Tell  me !  You  speak  so  much  .  .  .  as  if  you  knew 
everything.  It  makes  me  sick  to  listen  to  you  .  .  . 
you  darken  my  soul.  ...  I  should  be  better  pleased  if 
you  were  silent.  Who  are  we,  eh?  Why  have  we  no 
prophets  ?  Ha,  ha !  .  .  .  Where  were  we  when  Christ 
walked  on  this  earth  ?  Do  you  see  ?  And  you  too,  you 
are  lying.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  that  all  die  out?  The 
Russian  people  will  never  disappear.  .  .  .  You  are  lying. 
...  It  has  been  written  in  the  Bible,  only  it  is  not 
known  what  name  the  Russians  are  given.  Do  you  see 
what  kind  of  people  they  are?  They  are  numberless. 
.  .  .  How  many  villages  are  there  on  the  earth  ?  Think 
of  all  the  people  who  live  on  it,  so  strong,  so  numerous ! 
And  you  say  that  they  will  die  out;  men  shall  die,  but 
God  wants  the  people,  God  the  Creator  of  the  earth! 
The  Amalekites  did  not  die  out.  They  are  either  Ger- 
man or  French.  .  .  .  But  you,  eh,  you !  Now  then,  tell 
me  why  we  are  abandoned  by  God  ?  Have  we  no  punish- 
ments nor  prophets  from  the  Lord?  Who  then  will 
teach  us?"     Tyapa  spoke  strongly   and   plainly,   and 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN      35 

there  was  faith  in  his  words.  He  had  been  speaking  a 
long  time,  and  the  teacher,  who  was  generally  drunk 
and  in  a  speechless  condition,  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer.  He  looked  at  the  dry,  wrinkled  old  man,  felt 
the  great  force  of  these  words,  and  suddenly  began  to 
pity  himself.  He  wished  to  say  something  so  strong 
and  convincing  to  the  old  man  that  Tyapa  would  be 
disposed  in  his  favor ;  he  did  not  wish  to  speak  in  such 
a  serious,  earnest  way,  but  in  a  soft  and  fatherly  tone. 
And  the  teacher  felt  as  if  something  were  rising  from 
his  breast  into  his  throat  .  .  .  But  he  could  not  find 
any  powerful  words. 

'^Wliat  kind  of  a  man  are  you  ?  .  .  .  Your  soul  seems 
to  be  torn  away — and  you  still  continue  speaking  .  .  . 
as  if  you  knew  something  ...  It  would  be  better  if 
you  were  silent.^' 

"Ah,  Tyapa,  what  you  say  is  true,"  replied  the  teacher 
sadly.  "The  people  .  .  .  you  are  right  .  .  .  they  are 
numberless  .  .  .  but  I  am  a  stranger  to  them  .  .  .  and 
they  are  strangers  to  me  .  .  .Do  you  see  where  the 
tragedy  of  my  life  is  hidden  ?  .  .  .  But  let  me  alone ! 
I  shall  suffer  .  .  .  and  there  are  no  prophets  also  .  .  . 
No.  You  are  right,  I  speak  a  great  deal  .  .  .  But  it  is 
no  good  to  anyone.  I  shall  be  always  silent  .  .  .  Only 
don't  speak  with  me  like  this  ...  Ah,  old  man,  you  do 
not  know  .  .  .  You  do  not  know  .  .  .  And  you  cannot 
imderstand." 

And  in  the  end  the  teacher  cried.  He  cried  so  easily 
and  so  freely,  with  such  torrents  of  flowing  tears,  that 
he  soon  found  relief. 

'TTou  ought  to  go  into  a  village  .   .   .  become  a  clerk 


36       CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

or  a  teacher  .  .  .  You  would  be  well  fed  there.  What 
are  you  crying  for?"  asked  Tyapa  sadly. 

But  the  teacher  was  crying  as  if  the  tears  quieted  and 
comforted  him. 

From  this  day  they  became  friends,  and  the  "creatures 
that  once  were  men/'  seeing  them  together,  said :  "The 
teacher  is  friendly  with  Tyapa  .  .  .  He  wishes  his 
money.  Kuvalda  must  have  put  this  into  his  head  .  .  . 
To  look  about  to  see  where  the  old  man's  for- 
time  is  .    .    ." 

Probably  they  did  not  believe  what  they  said.  There 
was  one  strange  thing  about  these  men,  namely,  that 
they  painted  themselves  to  others  worse  than  they  ac- 
tually were.  A  man  who  has  good  in  him  does  not 
mind  sometimes  showing  his  worse  nature. 


When  all  these  people  were  gathered  round  the 
teacher,  then  the  reading  of  the  newspaper  would  begin. 

"Well,  what  does  the  newspaper  discuss  to-day?  Is 
there  any  f euilleton  ?" 

"No,"  the  teacher  informs  him. 

"Your  publisher  seems  greedy  .  .  .  but  is  there  any 
leader?" 

"There  is  one  to-day.  ...  It  appears  to  be  by  Gul- 
yaeff." 

"Aha!  Come,  out  with  it!  He  writes  cleverly,  the 
rascal." 

"  'The  taxation  of  immovable  property,* "  reads  the 
teacher,  "  Vas  introduced  some  fifteen  years  ago,  and 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   37 

up  to  the  present  it  has  served  as  the  basis  for  collecting 
these  taxes  in  aid  of  the  city  revenue  .    .    .' " 

"That  is  simple/'  comments  Captain  Kuvalda.  "It 
continues  to  serve.  That  is  ridiculous.  To  the  mer- 
chant who  is  moving  about  in  the  city,  it  is  profitable 
that  it  should  continue  to  serve.  Therefore  it  does  con- 
tinue." 

"The  article,  in  fact,  is  written  on  the  subject,'*  says 
the  teacher. 

"Is  it?  That  is  strange,  it  is  more  a  subject  for  a 
feuilleton  ..." 

"Such  a  subject  must  be  treated  with  plenty  of  pep- 
per.   ..." 

Then  a  short  discussion  begins.  The  people  listen 
attentively,  as  only  one  bottle  of  vodki  has  been  drunk. 

After  the  leader,  they  read  the  local  events,  then  the 
court  proceedings,  and,  if  in  the  police  court  it  reports 
that  the  defendant  or  plaintiff  is  a  merchant,  then  Aris- 
tid  Kuvalda  sincerely  rejoices.  If  someone  has  robbed 
the  merchant,  "That  is  good,"  says  he.  "Only  it  is  a 
pity  they  robbed  him  of  so  little."  If  his  horses  have 
broken  down,  "It  is  sad  that  he  is  still  alive."  If  the 
merchant  has  lost  his  suit  in  court,  'It  is  a  pity  that  the 
costs  were  not  double  the  amount." 

"That  would  have  been  illegal,"  remarks  the  teacher. 

"Illegal!  But  is  the  merchant  himself  legal?"  in- 
quires Kuvalda  bitterly.  **What  is  the  merchant?  Let 
us  investigate  this  rough  and  uncouth  phenomenon. 
First  of  all,  every  merchant  is  a  mujik.  He  comes  from 
a  village,  and  in  course  of  time  becomes  a  merchant.  In 
order  to  be  a  merchant,  one  must  have  money.    Where 


38   CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

can  the  mujik  get  the  money  from?  It  is  well  known 
that  he  does  not  get  it  by  honest  hard  work,  and  that 
means  that  the  mujik,  somehow  or  other,  has  been 
swindling.  That  is  to  say,  a  merchant  is  simply  a  dis- 
honest mujik," 

"Splendid !"  cry  the  people,  approving  the  orator's 
deduction,  and  Tyapa  bellows  all  the  time,  scratching 
his  breast.  He  always  bellows  like  this  as  he  drinks  his 
first  glass  of  vodki,  when  he  has  a  drunken  headache. 
The  Captain  beams  with  joy.  They  next  read  the  corre- 
spondence. This  is,  for  the  Captain,  "an  abundance  of 
drinks,"  as  he  himself  calls  it.  He  always  notices  how 
the  merchants  make  this  life  abominable,  and  how  clev- 
erly they  spoil  everything.  His  speeches  thunder  at  and 
annihilate  merchants.  His  audience  listens  to  him  with 
the  greatest  pleasure,  because  he  swears  atrociously.  "If 
I  wrote  for  the  papers,"  he  shouts,  "I  would  show  up 
the  merchant  in  his  true  colors  ...  I  would  show  that 
he  is  a  beast,  playing  for  a  time  the  role  of  a  man.  I 
understand  him !  He  is  a  rough  boor,  does  not  know 
the  meaning  of  the  words  *good  taste,'  has  no  notion 
of  patriotism,  and  his  knowledge  is  not  worth  five 
kopecks." 

Abyedok,  knowing  the  Captain's  weak  point,  and  fond 
of  making  other  people  angry,  cunningly  adds: 

"Yes,  since  the  nobility  began  to  make  acquain- 
tance with  hunger,  men  have  disappeared  from  the 
world  ..." 

"You  are  right,  you  son  of  a  spider  and  a  toad.  Yes, 
from  the  time  that  the  noblemen  fell,  there  have  been 
no  men.    There  are  only  merchants,  and  I  hate  them." 


CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   39 

"That  is  easy  to  understand,  brother,  because  you 
too,  have  been  brought  down  by  them  ..." 

"I?  I  was  ruined  by  love  of  life  .  .  .  Fool  that  I 
was,  I  loved  life,  but  the  merchant  spoils  it,  and  I  can- 
not bear  it,  simply  for  this  reason,  and  not  because  I 
am  a  nobleman.  But  if  you  want  to  know  the  truth,  I 
was  once  a  man,  though  I  was  not  noble.  I  care  now 
for  nothing  and  nobody  .  .  .  and  all  my  life  has  been 
tame — a  sweetheart  who  has  Jilted  me — therefore  I  de- 
spise life,  and  am  indifferent  to  it." 

"You  lie !"  says  Abyedok. 

"I  lie?"  roars  Aristid  Kuvalda,  almost  crimson  with 
anger. 

"Why  shout?"  comes  in  the  cold,  sad  voice  of  Marty- 
anoff. 

"Why  judge  others?  Merchants,  noblemen  .  .  . 
what  have  we  to  do  with  them?" 

"Seeing  that  we  are"  .   .    .  puts  in  Deacon  Taras. 

"Be  quiet,  Abyedok,"  says  the  teacher  good-naturedly. 
**Why  do  you  provoke  him?"  He  does  not  love  either 
discussion  or  noise,  and  when  they  quarrel  all  aroimd 
him  his  lips  form  into  a  sickly  grimace,  and  he  en- 
deavors quietly  and  reasonably  to  reconcile  each  with 
the  other,  and  if  he  does  not  succeed  in  this  he  leaves 
the  company.  Knowing  this,  the  Captain,  if  he  is  not 
very  drunk,  controls  himself,  not  wishing  to  lose,  in  the 
person  of  the  teacher,  one  of  the  best  of  his  listeners. 

"I  repeat,"  he  continues,  in  a  quieter  tone,  "that  I  see 
life  in  the  hands  of  enemies,  not  only  enemies  of  the 
noble  but  of  everything  good,  avaricious  and  incapable 
of  adorning  existence  in  any  way." 


40   CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"But  all  the  same,"  says  the  teacher,  "merchants,  so 
to  speak,  created  Genoa,  Venice,  Holland — and  all  these 
were  merchants,  merchants  from  England,  India,  the 
Stroyanoff  merchants  ..." 

"I  do  not  speak  of  these  men,  I  am  thinking  of  Judas 
Petunikoff,  who  is  one  of  them.  ..." 

"And  you  say  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  them?" 
asks  the  teacher  quietly. 

"But  do  you  think  that  I  do  not  live?  Aha!  I  do 
live,  but  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  be  angry  at  the  fact 
that  life  is  desecrated  and  robbed  of  all  freedom  by 
these  men." 

"And  they  dare  to  laugh  at  the  kindly  anger  of  the 
Captain,  a  man  living  in  retirement?"  says  Abyedok 
teasingly. 

"Very  well!  I  agree  with  you  that  I  am  foolish. 
Being  a  creature  who  was  once  a  man,  I  ought  to  blot 
out  from  my  heart  all  those  feelings  that  once  were 
mine.  You  may  be  right,  but  then  how  could  I  or  any 
of  you  defend  ourselves  if  we  did  away  with  all  these 
feelings  ?" 

"Now  then,  you  are  talking  sense,"  says  the  teacher 
encouragingly. 

**We  want  other  feelings  and  other  views  on  life. 
.  .  .  We  want  something  new  .  .  .  because  we  our- 
selves are  a  novelty  in  this  life.  ..." 

"Doubtless  this  is  most  important  for  us,"  remarks 
the  teacher. 

"Why?"  asks  Kanets.  "Is  it  not  all  the  same  what- 
ever we  say  or  think?  We  have  not  got  long  to  live 
,   /    -  I  am  forty,  you  are  fifty  .    .    .  there  is  no  one 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   41 

among  us  younger  than  thirty,  and  even  at  twenty  one 
cannot  live  such  a  life  long." 

"And  what  kind  of  novelty  are  we?"  asked  Abyedok 
mockingly. 

"Since  nakedness  has  always  existed  ..." 

"Yes,  and  it  created  Rome,"  said  the  teacher. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  says  the  Captain,  beaming  with  joy. 
"Romulus  and  Remus,  eh  ?  We  also  shall  create  when 
our  time  comes  ..." 

"Violation  of  public  peace,"  interrupts  Abyedok.  He 
laughs  in  a  self-satisfied  way.  His  laughter  is  impudent 
and  insolent,  and  is  echoed  by  Simtsoff,  the  Deacon  and 
Paltara  Taras.  The  naive  eyes  of  young  Meteor  light 
up,  and  his  cheeks  flush  crimson. 

Kanets  speaks,  and  it  seems  as  if  he  were  hammering 
their  heads. 

"All  these  are  foolish  illusions  .    .    .  fiddlesticks !" 

It  was  strange  to  see  them  reasoning  in  this  manner, 
these  outcasts  from  life,  tattered,  drunken  with  vodki 
and  wickedness,  filthy  and  forlorn.  Such  conversations 
rejoiced  the  Captain's  heart.  They  gave  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  more,  and  therefore  he  thought  him- 
self better  than  the  rest.  However  low  he  may  fall,  a 
man  can  never  deny  himself  the  delight  of  feeling 
cleverer,  more  powerful,  or  even  better  fed  than  his 
companions.  Aristid  Kuvalda  abused  this  pleasure,  and 
never  could  have  enough  of  it,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
Abyedok,  Kubar,  and  others  of  these  creatures  that  once 
were  men,  who  were  less  interested  in  such  things. 

Politics,  however,  were  more  to  the  popular  taste. 
The  discussions  as  to  the  necessity  of  taking  India  or 


42       CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

of  subduing  England  were  lengthy  and  protracted.  Nor 
did  they  speak  with  less  enthusiasm  of  the  radical  meas- 
ure of  clearing  Jews  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  On  this 
subject  Abyedok  was  always  the  first  to  propose  dreadfid 
plans  to  effect  the  desired  end,  but  the  Captain,  always 
first  in  every  other  argument,  did  not  join  in  this  one. 
They  also  spoke  much  and  impudently  about  women,  but 
the  teacher  always  defended  them,  and  sometimes  was 
very  angry  when  they  went  so  far  as  to  pass  the  limits 
of  decency.  They  all,  as  a  rule,  gave  in  to  him,  because 
they  did  not  look  upon  him  as  a  common  person,  and 
also  because  they  wished  to  borrow  from  him  on  Satur- 
days tlie  money  which  he  had  earned  during  the  week. 
He  had  many  privileges.  They  never  beat  him,  for  in- 
stance, on  these  occasions  when  the  conversation  ended 
in  a  free  fight.  He  had  the  right  to  bring  women  into 
the  dosshouse ;  a  privilege  accorded  to  no  one  else,  as  the 
Captain  had  previously  warned  them, 

"No  bringing  of  women  to  my  house,"  he  had  said. 
"Women,  merchants  and  philosophers,  these  are  the 
three  causes  of  my  ruin.  I  will  horsewhip  anyone  bring- 
ing in  women,  I  will  horsewhip  the  woman  also.  .  .  . 
And  as  to  the  philosopher,  I'll  knock  his  head  off  for 
him."  And  notwithstanding  his  age  he  could  have 
knocked  anyone's  head  off,  for  he  possessed  wonderful 
strength.  Besides  that,  whenever  he  fought  or  quar- 
relled, he  was  assisted  by  Martyanoff,  who  was  accus- 
tomed during  a  general  fight  to  stand  silently  and  sadly 
back  to  back  with  Kuvalda,  when  he  became  an  all- 
destroying  and  impregnable  engine  of  war.  Once  when 
Simtsoff  was  drunk,  he  rushed  at  the  teacher  for  no 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN"      43 

reason  whatever,  and  getting  hold  of  his  head  tore  out 
a  bunch  of  hair.  Kuvalda,  with  one  stroke  of  his  fist 
in  the  other's  chest,  sent  him  spinning,  and  he  fell  to 
the  ground.  He  was  unconscious  for  almost  half-an- 
hour,  and  when  he  came  to  himself  Kuvalda  compelled 
him  to  eat  the  hair  he  had  torn  from  the  teacher's  head. 
He  ate  it,  preferring  this  to  being  beaten  to  death. 

Besides  reading  newspapers,  fighting  and  indulging  in 
general  conversation,  they  amused  themselves  by  playing 
cards.  They  played  without  Martyanoff  because  he  could 
not  play  honestly.  After  cheating  several  times,  he 
openly  confessed : 

"I  cannot  play  without  cheating  .  .  .  it  is  a  habit  of 
mine." 

"Habits  do  get  the  better  of  you,"  assented  Deacon 
Taras.  "I  always  used  to  beat  my  wife  every  Simday 
after  Mass,  and  when  she  died  I  cannot  describe  how 
extremely  dull  I  felt  every  Sunday.  I  lived  through 
one  Sunday — it  was  dreadful,  the  second  I  still  con- 
trolled myself,  the  third  Sunday  I  struck  my  Asok. 
.  .  .  She  was  angry  and  threatened  to  summon  me. 
Just  imagine  if  she  had  done  so !  On  the  fourth  Sun- 
day, I  beat  her  just  as  if  she  were  my  own  wife !  After 
that  I  gave  her  ten  roubles,  and  beat  her  according  to 
my  own  rules  till  I  married  again !"  ,    .    . 

"You  are  lying.  Deacon !  How  could  you  marry  a 
second  time?"  interrupted  Abyedok. 

"Ay,  just  so  .   .   .  She  looked  after  my  house.  ..." 

"Did  you  have  any  children?"  asked  the  teacher. 

*^ive  of  them.  .  .  .  One  was  drowned  .  .  .  the 
oldest  ...  he  was  an  amusing  boy !    Two  died  of  diph- 


44   CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

theria  .  .  .  One  of  the  daughters  married  a  student  and 
went  with  him  to  Siberia.  The  other  went  to  the  Uni- 
versity of  St.  Petersburg  and  died  there  ...  of  con- 
sumption they  say.  Ye — es,  there  were  five  of  them. 
.  .  .  Ecclesiastics  are  prolific,  you  know."  He  began 
explaining  why  this  was  so,  and  they  laughed  till  they 
nearly  burst  at  his  tales.  When  the  laughter  stopped, 
Aleksei  Maksimovitch  Simtsoff  remembered  that  he  too 
had  once  had  a  daughter. 

"Her  name  was  Lidka  .  .  .  she  was  very  stout  ..." 
More  than  this  he  did  not  seem  to  remember,  for  he 
looked  at  them  all,  was  silent  and  smiled  .  .  .  in  a 
guilty  way.  Those  men  spoke  very  little  to  each  other 
about  their  past,  and  they  recalled  it  very  seldom,  and 
then  only  its  general  outlines.  When  they  did  mention 
it,  it  was  in  a  cynical  tone.  Probably,  this  was  just  as 
well,  since,  in  many  people,  remembrance  of  the  past 
kills  all  present  energy  and  deadens  all  hope  for  the 
future. 


On  rainy,  cold,  or  dull  days  in  the  late  autumn,  these 
"creatures  that  once  were  men"  gathered  in  the  eating- 
house  of  Vaviloff.  They  were  well  known  there,  where 
some  feared  them  as  thieves  and  rogues,  and  some  looked 
upon  them  contemptuously  as  hard  drinkers,  although 
they  respected  them,  thinking  that  they  were  clever. 

The  eating-house  of  Vaviloff  was  the  club  of  the  main 
street,  and  the  "creatures  that  once  were  men"  were  its 
most  intellectual  members.     On  Saturday  evenings  or 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN"      45 

Sunday  mornings,  when  the  eating-house  was  packed, 
the  "creatures  that  once  were  men'*  were  only  too  wel- 
come guests.  They  brought  with  them,  besides  the  for- 
gotten and  poverty-stricken  inhabitants  of  the  street, 
their  own  spirit,  in  which  there  was  something  that 
brightened  the  lives  of  men  exhausted  and  worn  out  in 
the  struggle  for  existence,  as  great  drunkards  as  the 
inhabitants  of  Kuvalda's  shelter,  and,  like  them,  out- 
casts from  the  town.  Their  ability  to  speak  on  all  sub- 
jects, their  freedom  of  opinion,  skill  in  repartee,  courage 
in  the  presence  of  those  of  whom  the  whole  street  was 
in  terror,  together  with  their  daring  demeanor,  could  not 
but  be  pleasing  to  their  companions.  Then,  too,  they 
were  well  versed  in  law,  and  could  advise,  write  peti- 
tions, and  help  to  swindle  without  incurring  the  risk  of 
punishment.  For  all  this  they  were  paid  with  vodki  and 
flattering  admiration  of  their  talents. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  street  were  divided  into  two 
parties  according  to  their  sympathies.  One  was  in  favor 
of  Kuvalda,  who  was  thought  "a  good  soldier,  clever, 
and  courageous";  the  other  was  convinced  of  the  fact 
that  the  teacher  was  "superior"  to  Kuvalda.  The  lat- 
ter's  admirers  were  those  who  were  known  to  be  drunk- 
ards, thieves,  and  murderers,  for  whom  the  road  from 
beggary  to  prison  was  inevitable.  But  those  who  re- 
spected the  teacher  were  mgi  who  still  had  expectations, 
still  hoped  for  better  things,  who  were  eternally 
occupied  with  nothing,  and  who  were  nearly  always 
hungry. 

The  nature  of  the  teacher's  and  Kuvalda's  relations 
toward  the  street  may  be  gathered  from  the  following : 


46       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Once  in  the  eating-house  they  were  discussing  the 
resolution  passed  by  the  Corporation  regarding  the  main 
street,  viz.,  that  the  inhabitants  were  to  fill  up  the 
pits  and  ditches  in  the  street,  and  that  neither  manure 
nor  the  dead  bodies  of  domestic  animals  should  be  used 
for  the  purpose,  but  only  broken  tiles,  etc.,  from  the 
ruins  of  other  houses. 

"Where  am  I  going  to  get  these  same  broken  tiles 
and  bricks?  I  could  not  get  sufficient  bricks  together 
to  build  a  hen-house,"  plaintively  said  Mokei  AnisimoS, 
a  man  who  hawked  kalaches  (a  sort  of  white  bread) 
which  were  baked  by  his  wife. 

"Where  can  you  get  broken  bricks  and  lime  rubbish  ? 
Take  bags  with  you,  and  go  and  remove  them  from  the 
Corporation  buildings.  They  are  so  old  that  they  are 
of  no  use  to  anyone,  and  you  will  thus  be  doing  two 
good  deeds;  firstly,  by  repairing  the  main  street;  and 
secondly,  by  adorning  the  city  with  a  new  Corporation 
building." 

"If  you  want  horses,  get  them  from  the  Lord  Mayor, 
and  take  his  three  daughters,  who  seem  quite  fit  for 
harness.  Then  destroy  the  house  of  Judas  Petunikoff 
and  pave  the  street  with  its  timbers.  By  the  way,  Mokei, 
I  know  out  of  what  your  wife  baked  to-day's  kalaches; 
out  of  the  frames  of  the  third  window  and  the  two  steps 
from  the  roof  of  Judas'  house." 

When  those  present  had  laughed  and  joked  sufficiently 
over  the  Captain's  proposal,  the  sober  market  gardener, 
Pavlyugus  asked : 

"But  seriously,  what  are  we  to  do,  your  honor  ?  .  .  . 
Eh?    What  do  you  think?" 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   47 

"I?  I  shall  neither  move  hand  nor  foot.  If  they 
•wish  to  clean  the  street,  let  them  do  it." 

"Some  of  the  houses  are  almost  coming  down.  ..." 

"Let  them  fall;  don't  interfere;  and  when  they  fall 
ask  help  from  the  city.  If  they  don't  give  it  you,  then 
bring  a  suit  in  court  against  them!  ^ Where  does  the 
water  come  from  ?  From  the  city !  Therefore  let  the 
city  be  responsible  for  the  destruction  of  the  houses." 

"They  will  say  it  is  rain-water." 

*T)oes  it  destroy  the  houses  in  the  city?  Eh?  They 
take  taxes  from  you,  but  they  do  not  permit  you  to 
speak !  They  destroy  your  property  and  at  the  same 
time  compel  you  to  repair  it !"  And  half  the  radicals  in 
the  street,  convinced  by  the  words  of  Kuvalda,  decided 
to  wait  till  the  rain-water  came  down  in  huge  streams 
and  swept  away  their  houses.  The  others,  more  sensi- 
ble, found  in  the  teacher  a  man  who  composed  for  them 
an  excellent  and  convincing  report  for  the  Corporation. 
In  this  report  the  refusal  of  the  street's  inhabitants  to 
comply  with  the  resolution  of  the  Corporation  was  so 
well  explained  that  the  Corporation  actually  entertained 
it.  It  was  decided  that  the  rubbish  left  after  some  re- 
pairs had  been  djone  to  the  barracks  should  be  used  for 
mending  and  filling  up  the  ditches  in  their  street,  and 
for  the  transport  of  this  five  horses  were  givon  by  the 
fire  brigade.  Still  more,  they  even  saw  the  necessity  of 
laying  a  drain-pipe  through  the  street.  This  and  many 
other  things  vastly  increased  the  popularity  of  the 
teacher.  He  wrote  petitions  for  them  and  published 
various  remarks  in  the  newspapers.  For  'nstance,  on 
one  occasion  Vaviloff's  customers  noticed  that  the  her- 


48   CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

rings  and  other  provisions  of  the  eating-house  were  not 
what  they  should  be,  and  after  a  day  or  two  they  saw 
Vaviloff  standing  at  the  bar  with  the  newspaper  in  his 
hand  making  a  public  apology. 

"It  is  true,  I  must  acknowledge,  that  I  bought  old 
and  not  very  good  herrings,  and  the  cabbage  .  .  .  also 
.  .  .  was  old.  It  is  only  too  well  known  that  anyone 
can  put  many  a  five-kopeck  piece  in  his  pocket  in  this 
way.  And  what  is  the  result?  It  has  not  been  a  suc- 
cess; I  was  greedy,  I  own,  but  the  cleverer  man  has 
exposed  me,  so  we  are  quits  .   .   ." 

This  confession  made  a  very  good  impression  on  the 
people,  and  it  also  gave  Vaviloff  the  opportunity  of  still 
feeding  them  with  herrings  and  cabbages  which  were 
not  good,  though  they  failed  to  notice  it,  so  much  were 
they  impressed. 

This  incident  was  very  significant,  because  it  increased 
not  only  the  teacher's  popularity,  but  also  the  effect 
of  press  opinion. 

It  often  happened,  too,  that  the  teacher  read  lectures 
on  practical  morality  in  the  eating-house. 

"I  saw  you,"  he  said  to  the  painter,  Yashka  Tyarin; 
"I  saw  you,  Yakov,  beating  your  wife  ..." 

Yashka  was  "touched  with  paint"  after  having  two 
glasses  of  vodki,  and  was  in  a  slightly  uplifted  con- 
dition. 

The  people  looked  at  him,  expecting  him  to  make  a 
row,  and  all  were  silent, 

*T)id  you  see  me  ?  And  how  did  it  please  you  ?"  asks 
Yashka. 

The  people  control  their  laughter. 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   49 

"No;  it  did  not  please  me,"  replies  the  teacher.  His 
tone  is  so  serious  that  the  people  are  silent. 

"You  see  I  was  just  trying  it,"  said  Yashka,  with 
bravado,  fearing  that  the  teacher  would  rebuke  him. 
"The  wife  is  satisfied.  .  .  .  She  has  not  got  up  yet 
to-day.  ..." 

The  teacher,  who  was  drawing  absently  with  his 
fingers  on  the  table,  said,  ^TDo  you  see,  Yakov,  why  this 
did  not  please  me?  .  .  .  Let  us  go  into  the  matter 
thoroughly,  and  understand  what  you  are  really  doing, 
and  what  the  result  may  be.  Your  wife  is  pregnant. 
You  struck  her  last  night  on  her  sides  and  breast.  That 
means  that  you  beat  not  only  her  but  the  child  too. 
You  may  have  killed  him,  and  your  wife  might  have 
died  or  else  have  become  seriously  ill.  To  have  the 
trouble  of  looking  after  a  sick  woman  is  not  pleasant. 
It  is  wearing,  and  would  cost  you  dear,  because  illness 
requires  medicine,  and  medicine  money.  If  you  have 
not  killed  the  child,  you  may  have  crippled  him,  and 
he  will  be  born  deformed,  lop-sided,  or  hunch-backed. 
That  means  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  work,  and  it  is 
only  too  important  to  you  that  he  should  be  a  good 
workman.  Even  if  he  be  born  ill,  it  will  be  bad  enough, 
because  he  will  keep  his  mother  from  work,  and  will 
require  medicine.  Do  you  see  what  you  are  doing  to 
yourself?  Men  who  live  by  hard  work  must  be  strong 
and  healthy,  and  they  should  have  strong  and  healthy 
children.  .   .    .  Do  I  speak  truly?" 

'*Yes,"  assented  the  listeners. 

'^ut  all  this  will  never  happen,"  says  Yashka,  be- 
coming rather  frightened  at  the  prospect  held  out  to  him 


50   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

by  the  teacher.  "She  is  healthy,  and  I  cannot  have 
reached  the  child  .  .  .  She  is  a  devil — a  hag!"  he 
shouts  angrily.  "I  would  .  .  .  She  will  eat  me  away 
as  rust  eats  iron." 

"I  understand,  Yakov,  that  you  cannot  help  beating 
your  wife,"  the  teacher's  sad  and  thoughtful  voice  again 
breaks  in.  "You  have  many  reasons  for  doing  so  .  .  . 
It  is  your  wife's  character  that  causes  you  to  beat  her 
so  incautiously  .  .  .  But  your  own  dark  and  sad 
life   ..." 

"You  are  right !"  shouts  Yakov.  "We  live  in  dark- 
ness, like  the  chimney-sweep  when  he  is  in  the 
chimney !" 

"You  are  angry  with  your  life,  but  your  wife  is  pa- 
tient; the  closest  relation  to  you — your  wife,  and  you 
make  her  suffer  for  this,  simply  because  you  are  stronger 
than  she.  She  is  always  with  you,  and  cannot  get  away. 
Don't  you  see  how  absurd  you  are  ?" 

"That  is  so.  .  .  .  Devil  take  it !  But  what  shall  I 
do?    Am  I  not  a  man?" 

"Just  so !  You  are  a  man.  ...  I  only  wish  to  tell 
you  that  if  you  cannot  help  beating  her,  then  beat  her 
carefully  and  always  remember  that  you  may  injure 
her  health  or  that  of  the  child.  It  is  not  good  to  beat 
pregnant  women  ...  on  their  belly  or  on  their  sides 
and  chests.  .  .  .  Beat  her,  say,  on  the  neck  ...  or  else 
take  a  rope  and  beat  her  on  some  soft  place  ..." 

The  orator  finished  his  speech  and  looked  upon  his 
hearers  with  his  dark,  pathetic  eyes,  seeming  to  apolo^ze 
to  them  for  some  unknown  crime. 

The   public  understands  it.     They   understand   the 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   51 

morale  of  the  creature  who  was  once  a  man,  the  morale 
of  the  public-house  and  much  misfortune. 

"Well,  brother  Yashka,  did  you  understand?  See 
how  true  it  is  !" 

Yakov  understood  that  to  beat  her  incautiously  might 
be  injurious  to  his  wife.  He  is  silent,  replying  to  his 
companions'  jokes  with  confused  smiles.    . 

"Then  again,  what  is  a  wife?"  philosophizes  the 
baker,  Mokei  Anisimoff.  "A  wife  .  .  .  is  a  friend  .  ,  . 
if  we  look  at  the  matter  in  that  way.  She  is  like  a  chain, 
chained  to  you  for  life  .  .  .  and  you  are  both  just  like 
galley  slaves.  And  if  you  try  to  get  away  from  her, 
you  cannot,  you  feel  the  chain  ..." 

'Wait,"  says  Yakovleff;  '^ut  you  beat  your  wife 
too." 

"Did  I  say  that  I  did  not?  I  beat  her.  .  .  .  There 
is  nothing  else  handy.  ...  Do  you  expect  me  to  beat 
the  wall  with  my  fist  when  my  patience  is  exhausted?" 

"I  feel  just  like  that  too.  .   ."  says  Yakov. 

"How  hard  and  difficult  our  life  is,  my  brothers! 
There  is  no  real  rest  for  us  anywhere !" 

"And  even  you  beat  your  wife  by  mistake,"  some  one 
remarks  humorously.  And  thus  they  speak  till  far  on  in 
the  night  or  till  they  have  quarrelled,  the  usual  result 
of  drink  or  of  passions  engendered  by  such  discussions. 

The  rain  beats  on  the  windows,  and  outside  the  cold 
wind  is  blowing.  The  eating-house  is  close  with  tobacco 
smoke,  but  it  is  warm,  while  the  street  is  cold  and  wet. 
Now  and  then,  the  wind  beats  threateningly  on  the 
windows  of  the  eating-house,  as  if  bidding  these  men 
to  come  out  and  be  scattered  like  dust  over  the  face 


53       CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

of  the  earth.  Sometimes  a  stifled  and  hopeless  groan 
is  heard  in  its  howling  which  again  is  drowned  by  cold, 
cruel  laughter.  This  music  fills  one  with  dark,  sad 
thoughts  of  the  approaching  winter,  with  its  accursed 
short,  sunless  days  and  long  nights,  of  the  necessity  of 
possessing  warm  garments  and  plenty  to  eat.  It  is  hard 
to  sleep  through  the  long  winter  nights  on  an  empty 
stomach.  Winter  is  approaching.  Yes,  it  is  approach- 
ing. .   .   .  How  to  live? 

These  gloomy  forebodings  created  a  strong  thirst 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  main  street,  and  the  sighs 
of  the  "creatures  that  once  were  men"  increased  with 
the  wrinkles  on  their  brows,  their  voices  became  thick 
and  their  behavior  to  each  other  more  blunt.  And- 
brutal  crimes  were  committed  among  them,  and  the 
roughness  of  these  poor  unfortunate  outcasts  was  apt  to 
increase  at  the  approach  of  that  inexorable  enemy,  who 
transformed  all  their  lives  into  one  cruel  farce.  But 
this  enemy  could  not  be  captured  because  it  was 
invisible. 

Then  they  began  beating  each  other  brutally,  and 
drank  till  they  had  drunk  everything  which  they  could 
pawn  to  the  indulgent  Vaviloff.  And  thus  they  passed 
the  autumn  days  in  open  wickedness,  in  suffering  which 
was  eating  their  hearts  out,  unable  to  rise  out  of  this 
vicious  life  and  in  dread  of  the  still  crueller  days  of 
winter. 

Kuvalda  in  such  cases  came  to  their  assistance  with 
his  philosophy. 

*T3on't  lose  your  temper,  brothers,  everything  has  an 
end,  this  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  life.    The  winter 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN       53 

will  pass,  summer  will  follow  ...  a  glorious  time, 
when  the  very  sparrows  are  filled  with  rejoicing.'*  But 
his  speeches  did  not  have  any  effect — a  mouthful  of  even 
the  freshest  and  purest  water  will  not  satisfy  a  hungry 
man. 

Deacon  Taras  also  tried  to  amuse  the  people  by  sing- 
ing his  songs  and  relating  his  tales.  He  was  more  suc- 
cessful, and  sometimes  his  endeavors  ended  in  a  wild 
and  glorious  orgy  at  the  eating-house.  They  sang, 
laughed  and  danced,  and  for  hours  behaved  like  mad- 
men. After  this  they  again  fell  into  a  despairing  mood, 
sitting  at  the  tables  of  the  eating-house,  in  the  black 
smoke  of  the  lamp  and  the  tobacco;  sad  and  tattered, 
speaking  lazily  to  each  other,  listening  to  the  wild  howl- 
ing of  the  wind,  and  thinking  how  they  could  get 
enough  vodki  to  deaden  their  senses. 

And  their  hand  was  against  every  man,  and  every 
man's  hand  against  them. 


PART  II 

All  things  are  relative  in  this  world,  and  a  man  can- 
not sink  into  any  condition  so  bad  that  it  could  not  be 
worse.  One  day,  toward  the  end  of  September,  Captain 
Aristid  Kuvalda  was  sitting,  as  was  his  custom,  on  the 
bench  near  the  door  of  the  dosshouse,  looking  at  the 
stone  building  built  by  the  merchant  Petunikoff  close  to 
Vaviloff's  eating-house,  and  thinking  deeply.  This 
building,  which  was  partly  surrounded  by  ■woods,  served 
the  purpose  of  a  candle  factory. 


54   CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Painted  red,  as  if  with  blood,  it  looked  like  a  cruel 
machine  which,  though  not  working,  opened  a  row  of 
deep,  hungry,  gaping  jaws,  as  if  ready  to  devour  and 
swallow  anything.  The  gray  wooden  eating-house  of 
Vaviloff,  with  its  bent  roof  covered  with  patches,  leaned 
against  one  of  the  brick  walls  of  the  factory,  and 
seemed  as  if  it  were  some  large  form  of  parasite  clinging 
to  it.  The  Captain  was  thinking  that  they  would  very 
soon  be  making  new  houses  to  replace  the  old  building. 
"They  will  destroy  the  dosshouse  even,"  he  reflected. 
"It  will  be  necessary  to  look  out  for  another,  but  such 
a  cheap  one  is  not  to  be  found.  It  seems  a  great  pity 
to  have  to  leave  a  place  to  which  one  is  accustomed, 
though  it  will  be  necessary  to  go,  simply  because  some 
merchant  or  other  thinks  of  manufacturing  candles  and 
soap."  And  the  Captain  felt  that  if  he  could  only  make 
the  life  of  such  an  enemy  miserable,  even  temporarily, 
oh !  with  what  pleasure  he  would  do  it ! 

Yesterday,  Ivan  Andreyevitch  Petunikoff  was  in  the 
dosshouse  yard  with  his  son  and  an  architect.  They 
measured  the  yard  and  put  small  wooden  sticks  in  vari- 
ous places,  which,  after  the  exit  of  Petunikoff  and  at 
the  order  of  the  Captain,  Meteor  took  out  and  threw 
away.  To  the  eyes  of  the  Captain  this  merchant  ap- 
peared small  and  thin.  He  wore  a  long  garment  like 
a  frock-coat,  a  velvet  cap,  and  high,  well-cleaned  boots. 
He  had  a  thin  face  with  prominent  cheek-bones,  a 
wedge-shaped  grayish  beard,  and  a  high  forehead 
seamed  with  wrinkles  from  beneath  which  shone  two 
narrow,  blinking,  and  observant  gray  eyes  ...  a  sharp, 
gristly   nose,    a    small    mouth    with    thin    lips   .    .    . 


CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   55 

altogether  his  appearance  was  pious,  rapacious,  and 
respectably  wicked. 

"Cursed  cross-bred  fox  and  pig !"  swore  the  Captain 
under  his  breath,  recalling  his  first  meeting  with  Petuni- 
koff.  The  merchant  came  with  one  of  the  town  council- 
lors to  buy  the  house,  and  seeing  the  Captain  asked  his 
companion : 

"Is  this  your  lodger?*' 

And  from  that  day,  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  there  has 
been  keen  competition  among  the  inhabitants  of  the 
dosshouse  as  to  which  can  swear  the  hardest  at  the 
merchant.  And  last  night  there  was  a  "slight  skirmish 
with  hot  words,"  as  the  Captain  called  it,  between 
Petunikoff  and  himself.  Having  dismissed  the  archi- 
tect the  merchant  approached  the  Captain. 

'^hat  are  you  hatching  ?"  asked  he,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  cap,  perhaps  to  adjust  it,  perhaps  as  a  salutation. 

**What  are  you  plotting  ?"  answered  the  Captain  in  the 
same  tone.  He  moved  his  chin  so  that  his  beard  trem- 
bled a  little ;  a  non-exacting  person  might  have  taken  it 
for  a  bow;  otherwise  it  only  expressed  the  desire  of  the 
Captain  to  move  his  pipe  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth 
to  the  other.  "You  see,  having  plenty  of  money,  I  can 
afford  to  sit  hatching  it.  Money  is  a  good  thing,  and 
I  possess  it,"  the  Captain  chaffed  the  merchant,  casting 
cunning  glances  at  him.  "It  means  that  you  serve 
money,  and  not  money  you,"  went  on  Kuvalda,  desiring 
at  the  same  time  to  punch  the  merchant's  belly. 

"Isn't  it  all  the  same  ?  Money  makes  life  comfortable, 
but  no  money,"  .  .  .  and  the  merchant  looked  at  the 
Captain  with  a  feigned  expression  of  suffering.     The 


56   CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

other's  upper  lip  curled,  and  exposed  large,  wolf-like 
teeth. 

''With  brains  and  a  conscience,  it  is  possible  to  live 
without  it.  Men  only  acquire  riches  when  they  cease  to 
listen  to  their  conscience  .  .  .  the  less  conscience  the 
more  money  V 

"Just  so;  but  then  there  are  men  who  have  neither 
money  nor  conscience.'' 

''Were  you  just  like  what  you  are  now  when  you 
were  young  ?"  asked  Kuvalda  simply.  The  other's  nos- 
trils twitched.  Ivan  Andreyevitch  sighed,  passed  his 
hand  over  his  eyes  and  said: 

"Oh!  Wlien  I  was  young  I  had  to  undergo  a  great 
many  difficulties  .  .  .  Work !    Oh !    I  did  work !" 

"And  you  cheated,  too,  I  suppose  ?" 

"People  like  you?  Nobles?  I  should  just  think  so! 
They  used  to  grovel  at  my  feet  1" 

"You  only  went  in  for  robbing,  not  murder,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  asked  the  Captain.  Petunikoff  turned  pale,  and 
hastily  changed  the  subject. 

"You  are  a  bad  host.  You  sit  while  your  guest 
stands." 

"Let  him  sit,  too,"  said  Kuvalda. 

"But  what  am  I  to  sit  on  ?" 

"On  the  earth  ...  it  will  take  any  rubbish  ..." 

"You  are  the  proof  of  that,"  said  Petunikoff  quietly, 
while  his  eyes  shot  forth  poisonous  glances. 

And  he  went  away,  leaving  Kuvalda  under  the  pleas- 
ant impression  that  the  merchant  was  afraid  of  him. 
If  he  were  not  afraid  of  him  he  would  long  ago  have 
evicted  him  from  the  dosshouse.     But  then  he  would 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   57 

think  twice  before  turning  him  out,  because  of  the  five 
roubles  a  month.  And  the  Captain  gazed  with  pleasure 
at  Petunikofl's  back  as  he  slowly  retreated  from  the 
court-yard.  Following  him  with  his  eyes,  he  noticed  how 
the  merchant  passed  the  factory  and  disappeared  into  the 
wood,  and  he  wished  very  much  that  he  might  fall  and 
break  all  his  bones.  He  sat  imagining  many  horrible 
forms  of  disaster  while  watching  Petunikoff,  who  was 
descending  the  hill  into  the  wood  like  a  spider 
going  into  its  web.  Last  night  he  even  imagined 
that  the  wood  gave  way  before  the  merchant  and  he 
fell  .  .  .  but  afterward  he  found  that  he  had  only  been 
dreaming. 

And  to-day,  as  always,  the  red  building  stands  out 
before  the  eyes  of  Aristid  Kuvalda,  so  plain,  so  massive, 
and  clinging  so  strongly  to  the  earth,  that  it  seems  to 
be  sucking  away  all  its  life.  It  appears  to  be  laughing 
coldly  at  the  Captain  with  its  gaping  walls.  The  sun 
pours  its  rays  on  them  as  generously  as  it  does  on  the 
miserable  hovels  of  the  main  street. 

"Devil  take  the  thing!"  exclaimed  the  Captain, 
thoughtfully  measuring  the  walls  of  the  factory  with  his 
eyes.  "If  only  ..."  Trembling  with  excitement  at  the 
thought  that  had  just  entered  his  mind  Aristid  Kuvalda 
jumped  up  and  ran  to  Vaviloff's  eating-house  muttering 
to  himself  all  the  time. 

Vaviloff  met  him  at  the  bar  and  gave  him  a  friendly 
welcome. 

"I  wish  your  honor  good  health !"  He  was  of  middle 
height  and  had  a  bald  head,  gray  hair,  and  straight 
mustaches   like   tooth-brushes.     Upright   and   neat   in 


58       CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

his  clean  jacket,  he  showed  by  every  movement  that 
he  was  an  old  soldier, 

"Egorka,  show  me  the  lease  and  plan  of  your  house," 
demanded  Kuvalda  impatiently. 

"I  have  shown  it  you  before/'  Vaviloff  looked  up 
suspiciously  and  closely  scanned  the  Captain's  face. 

"Show  it  me  I"  shouted  the  Captain,  striking  the  bar 
with  his  fist  and  sitting  down  on  a  stool  close  by. 

"But  why  ?"  asked  Vaviloff,  knowing  that  it  was  bet- 
ter to  keep  his  wits  about  him  when  Kuvalda  got  excited. 

"You  fool !    Bring  it  at  once." 

Vaviloff  rubbed  his  forehead,  and  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  ceiling  in  a  tired  way. 

"Where  are  those  papers  of  yours?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  on  the  ceiling,  so  the 
old  sergeant  looked  down  at  the  floor,  and  began  drum- 
ming with  his  fingers  on  the  bar  in  a  worried  and 
thoughtful  manner. 

"It's  no  good  your  making  wry  faces !"  shouted  the 
Captain,  for  he  had  no  great  affection  for  him,  thinking 
that  a  former  soldier  should  rather  have  become  a  thief 
than  an  eating-house  keeper. 

"Oh  !  Yes !  Aristid  Fomich,  I  remember  now.  They 
were  left  at  the  High  Court  of  Justice  at  the  time  when 
I  came  into  possession." 

"Get  along,  Egorka!  It  is  to  your  own  interest  to 
show  me  the  plan,  the  title-deeds,  and  everything  you 
have  immediately.  You  will  probably  clear  at  least  a 
hundred  roubles  over  this,  do  you  understand?" 

Vaviloff  did  not  understand  at  all;  but  the  Captain 
spoke  in  such  a  serious  and  convincing  tone  that  the  ser- 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN       59 

geant's  eyes  burned  with  curiosity,  and,  telling  him  that 
he  would  see  if  the  papers  were  in  his  desk,  he  went 
through  the  door  behind  the  bar.  Two  minutes  later  he 
returned  with  the  papers  in  his  hand,  and  an  expression 
of  extreme  astonishment  on  his  face. 

"Here  they  are ;  the  deeds  about  the  damned  houses  \*' 

"Ah !  You  .  .  .  vagabond !  And  you  pretend  to 
have  been  a  soldier,  too !"  And  Kuvalda  did  not  cease 
to  belabor  him  with  his  tongue,  as  he  snatched  the  blue 
parchment  from  his  hands.  Then,  spreading  the  papers 
out  in  front  of  him,  and  excited  all  the  more  by  Vavi- 
loff's  inquisitiveness,  the  Captain  began  reading  and  bel- 
lowing at  the  same  time.  At  last  he  got  up  resolutely, 
and  went  to  the  door,  leaving  all  the  papers  on  the  bar, 
and  saying  to  Vaviloff: 

*^ait !     Don't  lift  them  I" 

Vaviloff  gathered  them  up,  put  them  into  the  cash- 
box,  and  locked  it,  then  felt  the  lock  with  his  hand, 
to  see  if  it  were  secure.  After  that,  he  scratched  his 
bald  head,  thoughtfully,  and  went  up  on  the  roof  of  the 
eating-house.  There  he  saw  the  Captain  measuring  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  watched  him  anxiously,  as  he 
snapped  his  fingers,  and  began  measuring  the  same 
line  over  again.  Vaviloff's  face  lit  up  suddenly,  and 
he  smiled  happily. 

"Aristid  Fomich,  is  it  possible  ?"  he  shouted,  when  the 
Captain  came  opposite  to  him. 

"Of  course  it  is  possible.  There  is  more  than  one 
short  in  the  front  alone,  and  as  to  the  depth  I  skall  see 
immediately." 

"The  depth  .   .   .  seventy-three  feet." 


60   CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"What?    Have  you  guessed,  you  shaved,  ugly  face?" 

"Of  course,  Aristid  Fomich !  If  you  have  eyes  you 
can  see  a  thing  or  two,"  shouted  Vaviloff  joyfully. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  they  sat  side  by  side  in 
Vaviloff's  parlor,  and  the  Captain  was  engaged  in  drink- 
ing large  quantities  of  beer. 

"And  so  all  the  walls  of  the  factory  stand  on  your 
ground/'  said  he  to  the  eating-house  keeper.  "Now, 
mind  you  show  no  mercy !  The  teacher  will  be  here 
presently,  and  we  will  get  him  to  draw  up  a  petition  to 
the  court.  As  to  the  amount  of  the  damages  you  will 
name  a  very  moderate  sum  in  order  not  to  waste  money 
in  deed  stamps,  but  we  will  ask  to  have  the  factory 
knocked  down.  This,  you  see,  donkey,  is  the  result  of 
trespassing  on  other  people's  property.  It  is  a  splendid 
piece  of  luck  for  you.  We  will  force  him  to  have  the 
place  smashed,  and  I  can  tell  you  it  will  be  an  expensive 
job  for  him.  Off  with  you  to  the  court.  Bring  pres- 
sure to  bear  on  Judas.  We  will  calculate  how  much 
it  will  take  to  break  the  factory  down  to  its  very  founda- 
tions. We  will  make  an  estimate  of  it  all,  counting  the 
time  it  will  take  too,  and  we  will  make  honest  Judas 
pay  two  thousand  roubles  besides." 

"He  will  never  give  it !"  cried  Vaviloff,  but  his  eyes 
shone  with  a  greedy  light. 

"You  lie !  He  will  give  it  .  .  .  Use  your  brains.  .  . 
What  else  can  he  do?  But  look  here,  Egorka,  mind 
you,  don't  go  in  for  doing  it  on  the  cheap.  They  are 
sure  to  try  to  buy  you  off.  Don't  sell  yourself  cheap. 
They  will  probably  use  threats,  but  rely  upon  us.  .    ." 

The  Captain's  eyes  were  alight  with  happiness,  and 


CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   61 

his  face  red  with  excitement.  He  worked  upon  Vavi- 
loff's  greed,  and  urging  upon  him  the  importance  of 
immediate  action  in  the  matter,  went  away  in  a  very- 
joyful  and  happy  frame  of  mind. 


In  the  evening  everyone  was  told  of  the  Captain's 
discovery,  and  they  all  began  to  discuss  Petunikoff's 
future  predicament,  painting  in  vivid  colors  his  excite- 
ment and  astonishment  on  the  day  the  court  messenger 
handed  him  the  copy  of  the  summons.  The  Captain 
felt  himself  quite  a  hero.  He  was  happy  and  all  his 
friends  highly  pleased.  The  heap  of  dark  and  tattered 
figures  that  lay  in  the  courtyard  made  noisy  demonstra- 
tions of  pleasure.  They  all  knew  the  merchant,  Petuni- 
koff,  who  passed  them  very  often,  contemptuously 
turning  up  his  eyes  and  giving  them  no  more  attention 
than  he  bestowed  on  the  other  heaps  of  rubbish  lying  on 
the  ground.  He  was  well  fed,  and  that  exasperated 
them  still  more ;  and  now  how  splendid  it  was  that  one 
of  themselves  had  struck  a  hard  blow  at  the  selfish  mer- 
chant's purse!  It  gave  them  all  the  greatest  pleasure. 
The  Captain's  discovery  was  a  powerful  instrument  in 
their  hands.  Every  one  of  them  felt  keen  animosity 
toward  all  those  who  were  well  fed  and  well  dressed,  but 
in  some  of  them  this  feeling  was  only  beginning  to 
develop.  Burning  interest  was  felt  by  those  "'creatures 
that  once  were  men"  in  the  prospective  fight  between 
Kuvalda  and  Petunikoff,  which  they  already  saw  in 
imagination. 


62       CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

For  a  fortnight  the  inhabitants  of  the  dosshouse 
awaited  the  further  development  of  events,  but  Petuni- 
koff  never  once  visited  the  building.  It  was  known  that 
he  was  not  in  town,  and  that  the  copy  of  the  petition 
had  not  yet  been  handed  to  him.  Kuvalda  raged  at 
the  delays  of  the  civil  court.  It  is  improbable  that 
anyone  had  ever  awaited  the  merchant  with  such  im- 
patience as  did  this  bare-footed  brigade. 

"He  isn't  even  thinking  of  coming,  the  wretch !  .  .  . " 

"That  means  that  he  does  not  love  me !"  sang  Deacon 
Taras,  leaning  his  chin  on  his  hand  and  casting  a 
humorous  glance  toward  the  mountain. 

At  last  Petunikoff  appeared.  He  came  in  a  respect- 
able cart  with  his  son  playing  the  role  of  groom.  The 
latter  was  a  red-cheeked,  nice-looking  youngster,  in  a 
long  square-cut  overcoat.  He  wore  smoked  eyeglasses. 
They  tied  the  horse  to  an  adjoining  tree,  the  son  took 
the  measuring  instrument  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave 
it  to  his  father,  and  they  began  to  measure  the  groimd. 
Both  were  silent  and  worried. 

"Aha !"  shouted  the  Captain  gleefully. 

All  those  who  were  in  the  dosshouse  at  the  moment 
came  out  to  look  at  them  and  expressed  themselves 
loudly  and  freely  in  reference  to  the  matter. 

"What  does  the  habit  of  thieving  mean  ?  A  man  may 
sometimes  make  a  big  mistake  when  he  steals,  standing 
io  lose  more  than  he  gets,"  said  the  Captain,  causing 
much  laughter  among  his  staff  and  eliciting  various 
murmurs  of  assent. 

"Take  care,  you  devil!*'  shouted  Petunikoff,  "lest  I 
have  you  in  the  police  court  for  your  words !" 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   63 

"You  can  do  nothing  to  me  without  witnesses  .  .  . 
Your  son  cannot  give  evidence  on  your  side"  .  .  .  the 
Captain  warned  him. 

"Look  out  all  the  same,  you  old  wretch,  you  may  be 
found  guilty  too!"  And  Petunikoff  shook  his  fist  at 
him.  His  son,  deeply  engrossed  in  his  calculations,  took 
no  notice  of  the  dark  group  of  men,  who  were  taking 
such  a  wicked  delight  in  adding  to  his  father's  discom- 
fiture.   He  did  not  even  once  look  in  their  direction. 

"The  young  spider  has  himself  well  in  hand,"  re- 
marked Abyedok,  watching  young  Petunikoff's  every 
movement  and  action.  Having  taken  all  the  measure- 
ments he  desired,  Ivan  Andreyevitch  knit  his  brows,  got 
into  the  cart,  and  drove  away.  His  son  went  with  a 
firm  step  into  Vaviloff's  eating-house,  and  disappeared 
behind  the  door. 

"Ho,  ho !  That's  a  determined  young  thief !  .  .  . 
What  will  happen  next,  I  wonder  .  .  .  ?"  asked 
Kuvalda. 

"Next?  Young  Petunikoff  will  buy  out  Egor  Vavi- 
loff,"  said  Abyedok  with  conviction,  and  smacked  his 
lips  as  if  the  idea  gave  him  great  pleasure. 

"And  you  are  glad  of  that?"  Kuvalda  asked  him 
gravely. 

"I  am  always  pleased  to  see  human  calculations  mis- 
carry," explained  Abyedok,  rolling  his  eyes  and  rubbing 
his  hands  with  delight.  The  Captain  spat  angrily  on 
the  ground  and  was  silent.  They  -all  stood  in  front  of 
the  tumble-down  building,  and  silently  watched  the 
doors  of  the  eating-house.  More  than  an  hour  passed 
thus.    Then  the  doors  opened  and  Petunikoff  came  out 


64   CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

as  silently  as  he  had  entered.  He  stopped  foi'  a  moment, 
coughed,  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat,  glanced  at 
the  men,  who  were  following  all  his  movements  with 
their  eyes,  and  then  went  up  the  street  toward  the  town. 

The  Captain  watched  him  for  a  moment,  and  turning 
to  Abyedok  said  smilingly: 

"Probably  you  were  right  after  all,  you  son  of  a 
scorpion  and  a  wood-louse !  You  nose  out  every  evil 
thing.  Yes,  the  face  of  that  young  swindler  shows  that 
he  has  got  what  he  wanted.  .  .  I  wonder  how  much 
Egorka  has  got  out  of  them.  He  has  evidently  taken 
something.  .  .  He  is  just  the  same  sort  of  rogue  that 
they  are  .  .  .  they  are  all  tarred  with  the  same  brush. 
He  has  got  some  money,  and  I'm  damned  if  I  did  not 
arrange  the  whole  thing  for  him !  It  is  best  to  own  my 
folly.  .  .  Yes,  life  is  against  us  all,  brothers  .  .  .  and 
even  when  you  spit  upon  those  nearest  to  you,  the  spittle 
rebounds  and  hits  your  own  face." 

Having  satisfied  himself  with  this  reflection,  the 
worthy  Captain  looked  round  upon  his  staff.  Every  one 
of  them  was  disappointed,  because  they  all  knew  that 
something  they  did  not  expect  had  taken  place  between 
Petunikoff  and  Vaviloff,  and  they  all  felt  that  they  had 
been  insulted.  The  feeling  that  one  is  unable  to  injure 
anyone  is  worse  than  the  feeling  that  one  is  unable  to 
do  good,  because  to  do  harm  is  far  easier  and  simpler. 

"Well,  why  are  we  loitering  here  ?  We  have  nothing 
more  to  wait  for  .  .  .  except  the  reward  that  I  shall  get 
out — out  of  Egorka,.  .  ."  said  the  Captain,  looking 
angrily  at  the  eating-house.  "So  our  peaceful  life  under 
th«  roof  of  Judas  has  come  to  an  end.    Judas  will  now 


CREATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   65 

turn  us  out,  .  .  .  So  do  not  say  that  I  have  not  warned 
you." 

Kanets  smiled  sadly. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  jailer?"  Kuvalda  asked. 

"Where  shall  I  go  then  ?" 

"That,  my  soul,  is  a  question  that  fate  will  settle  for 
you,  so  do  not  worry,"  said  the  Captain  thoughtfully, 
entering  the  dosshouse.  "The  creatures  that  once  were 
men"  followed  him. 

"We  can  do  nothing  but  await  the  critical  moment," 
said  the  Captain,  walking  about  among  them.  "When 
they  turn  us  out  we  shall  seek  a  new  place  for  ourselves, 
but  at  present  there  is  no  use  spoiling  our  life  by  think- 
ing of  it  .  .  .  In  times  of  crisis  one  becomes  energetic 
.  .  .  and  if  life  were  fuller  of  them  and  every  moment 
of  it  so  arranged  that  we  were  compelled  to  tremble 
for  our  lives  all  the  time  ...  By  God !  life  would  be 
livelier  and  even  fuller  of  interest  and  energy  than 
it  is !" 

"That  means  that  people  would  all  go  about  cutting 
one  another's  throats,"  explained  Abyedok  smilingly. 

''Well,  what  about  it?"  asked  the  Captain  angrily. 
He  did  not  like  to  hear  his  thoughts  illustrated. 

"Oh !  Nothing !  When  a  person  wants  to  get  any- 
where quickly  he  whips  up  the  horses,  but  of  course 
it  needs  fire  to  make  engines  go  .   .   . " 

"Well,  let  everything  go  to  the  Devil  as  quickly  as 
possible.  I'm  sure  I  should  be  pleased  if  the  earth  sud- 
denly opened  up  or  was  burned  or  destroyed  somehow 
.  .  .  only  I  were  left  to  the  last  in  order  to  see  the 
others  consumed  ..." 


66       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"Ferocious  creature !"  smiled  Abyedok. 

"Well,  what  of  that  ?  I  ...  I  was  once  a  man  .  .  . 
now  I  am  an  outcast  .  .  .  that  means  I  have  no  obli- 
gations. It  means  that  I  am  free  to  spit  on  everyone. 
The  nature  of  my  present  life  means  the  rejection  of 
my  past  .  .  .  giving  up  all  relations  toward  men  who 
are  well  fed  and  well  dressed,  and  who  look  upon  me 
with  contempt  because  I  am  inferior  to  them  in  the  mat- 
ter of  feeding  or  dressing.  I  must  develop  something 
new  within  myself,  do  you  understand?  Something 
that  will  make  Judas  Petunikoff  and  his  kind  tremble 
and  perspire  before  me  !" 

"Ah !  You  have  a  courageous  tongue  V  jeered 
Abyedok. 

"Yes  .  .  .  You  miser !"  And  Kuvalda  looked  at 
him  contemptuously.  "What  do  you  understand  ?  What 
do  you  know?  Are  you  able  to  think?  But  I  have 
thought  and  I  have  read  .  .  .  books  of  which  you 
could  not  have  understood  one  word." 

"Of  course !  One  cannot  eat  soup  out  of  one's 
hand  .  .  .  But  though  you  have  read  and  thought, 
and  I  have  not  done  that  or  anything  else,  we  both 
seem  to  have  got  into  pretty  much  the  same  condition, 
don't  we?" 

"Go  to  the  Devil !"  shouted  Kuvalda.  His  conversa- 
tions with  Abyedok  always  ended  thus.  When  the 
teacher  was  absent  his  speeches,  as  a  rule,  fell  on  the 
empty  air,  and  received  no  attention,  and  he  knew  this, 
but  still  he  could  not  help  speaking.  And  now,  having 
<iuarrelled  with  his  companion,  he  felt  rather  deserted; 
but,  still  longing  for  conversation,  he  turned  to  Simtseff 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   67 

with  the  following  question:  "And  you,  Aleksei  Mak- 
simovitch,  where  will  you  lay  your  gray  head  ?" 

The  old  man  smiled  good-humoredly,  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  replied,  "I  do  not  know  ...  I  will  see. 
One  does  not  require  much,  just  a  little  drink." 

"Plain  but  honorable  fare!"  the  Captain  said. 
Simtsoff  was  silent,  only  adding  that  he  would  find  a 
place  sooner  than  any  of  them,  because  women  loved 
him.  This  was  true.  The  old  man  had,  as  a  rule,  two 
or  three  prostitutes,  who  kept  him  on  their  very  scant 
earnings.  They  very  often  beat  him,  but  he  took  this 
stoically.  They  somehow  never  beat  him  too  much, 
probably  because  they  pitied  him.  He  was  a  great  lover 
of  women,  and  said  they  were  the  cause  of  all  his  mis- 
fortunes. The  character  of  his  relations  toward  them 
was  confirmed  by  the  appearance  of  his  clothes,  which, 
as  a  rule,  were  tidy,  and  cleaner  than  those  of  his  com- 
panions. And  now,  sitting  at  the  door  of  the  dosshouse, 
he  boastingly  related  that  for  a  long  time  past  Redka 
had  been  asking  him  to  go  and  live  with  her,  but  he 
had  not  gone  because  he  did  not  want  to  part  with  the 
company.  They  heard  this  with  jealous  interest.  They 
all  knew  Redka.  She  lived  very  near  the  town,  almost 
below  the  mountain.  Not  long  ago,  she  had  been  in 
prison  for  theft.  She  was  a  retired  nurse ;  a  tall,  stout 
peasant  woman  with  a  face  marked  by  smallpox,  but 
with  very  pretty,  though  always  drunken,  eyes. 

"Just  look  at  the  old  devil !"  swore  Abyedok,  looking 
at  Simtsoff,  who  was  smiling  in  a  self-satisfied  way. 

"And  do  you  know  why  they  love  me?  Because  I 
know  how  to  cheer  up  their  souls." 


€8       CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

*T)o  you  T^  inquired  Kuvalda. 

**And  I  can  make  them  pity  me.  .  .  .  And  a  woman, 
when  she  pities !  Go  and  weep  to  her,  and  ask  her  to 
kill  you  .   .   .  she  will  pity  you — and  she  will  kill  you." 

"I  feel  inclined  to  commit  a  murder,"  declared  Mar- 
tyanoff,  laughing  his  dull  laugh. 

"Upon  whom?"  asked  Abyedok,  edging  away  from 
him. 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me  .  .  .  Petunikoff  .  .  .  Egorka 
...  or  even  you !" 

"And  why?"  inquired  Kuvalda. 

"I  want  to  go  to  Siberia  ...  I  have  had  enough  of 
this  vile  life  .    .    .  one  learns  how  to  live  there !" 

"Yes,  they  have  a  particularly  good  way  of  teaching 
in  Siberia,"  agreed  the  Captain  sadly. 

They  spoke  no  more  of  Petunikoff,  or  of  the  turning 
out  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  dosshouse.  They  all  knew 
that  they  would  have  to  leave  soon,  therefore  they  did 
not  think  the  matter  worth  discussion.  It  would  do  no 
good,  and  besides  the  weather  was  not  very  cold  though 
the  rains  had  begun  .  .  .  and  it  would  be  possible  to 
sleep  on  the  ground  anywhere  outside  the  town.  They 
sat  in  a  circle  on  the  grass  and  conversed  about  all  sorts 
of  things,  discussing  one  subject  after  another,  and 
listening  attentively  even  to  the  poor  speakers  in  order 
to  make  the  time  pass;  keeping  quiet  was  as  dull  as 
listening.  This  society  of  "creatures  that  once  were 
men"  had  one  fine  characteristic — no  one  of  them  en- 
deavored to  make  out  that  he  was  better  than  the  others, 
nor  compelled  the  others  to  acknowledge  his  superiority. 

The  Ausrust  sun  seemed  to  set  their  tatters  on  fire  as 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   69 

they  sat  with  their  backs  and  uncovered  heads  exposed 
to  it  .  .  .a  chaotic  mixture  of  the  vegetable,  mineral, 
and  animal  kingdoms.     In  the  corners  of  the  yard  the 

tall  steppe  grass  grew  luxuriantly Nothing  else 

grew  there  but  some  dingy  vegetables,  not  attractive  even 
to  those  who  nearly  always  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger. 


The  following  was  the  scene  that  took  place  in  Vavi- 
loff's  eating-house. 

Young  Petunikoff  entered  slowly,  took  off  his  hat, 
looked  around  him,  and  said  to  the  eating-house  keeper : 

"Egor  Terentievitch  Vaviloff?     Are  you  he?" 

"I  am,"  answered  the  sergeant,  leaning  on  the  bar 
with  both  arms  as  if  intending  to  jump  over  it. 

"I  have  some  business  with  you,"  said  Petunikoff. 

'^Delighted.  Please  come  this  way  to  my  private 
room." 

They  went  in  and  sat  down,  the  guest  on  the  couch 
and  his  host  on  the  chair  opposite  to  him.  In  one 
corner  a  lamp  was  burning  before  a  gigantic  icon,  and 
on  the  wall  at  the  other  side  there  were  several  oil  lamps. 
They  were  well  kept  and  shone  as  if  they  were  new.  The 
room,  which  contained  a  number  of  boxes  and  a  variety 
of  furniture,  smelt  of  tobacco,  sour  cabbage,  and  olive 
oil.  Petunikoff  looked  around  him  and  made  a  face. 
Vaviloff  looked  at  the  icon,  and  then  they  looked  simul- 
taneously at  one  another,  and  both  seemed  to  be  favor- 
ably impressed.  Petunikoff  liked  Vaviloff's  frankly 
thievish  eyes,  and  Vaviloff  was  pleased  with  the  open. 


70   CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

cold,  determined  face  of  PetunikofI,  with  its  large  cheeks 
and  white  teeth. 

"Of  course  you  already  know  me,  and  I  presume  you 
guess  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you,"  began  Petuni- 
koff. 

"About  the  lawsuit  ?  .  .  .  I  presume  ?"  remarked  the 
ex-sergeant  respectfully. 

"Exactly !  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  not  beating 
about  the  bush,  but  going  straight  to  the  point  like  a 
business  man,"  said  Petunikoff  encouragingly. 

"I  am  a  soldier,"  answered  Vaviloff,  with  a  modest 
air. 

"That  is  easily  seen,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  able 
to  finish  this  job  without  much  trouble." 

"Just  so." 

"Good !  You  have  the  law  on  your  side,  and  will, 
of  course,  win  your  case.  I  want  to  tell  you  this  at 
the  very  beginning." 

"I  thank  you  most  humbly,"  said  the  sergeant,  rub- 
bing his  eyes  in  order  to  hide  the  smile  in  them. 

"But  tell  me,  why  did  you  make  the  acquaintance  of 
your  future  neighbors  like  this  through  the  law  courts  ?" 

Vaviloff  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  did  not  answer. 

"It  would  have  been  better  to  come  straight  to  us 
and  settle  the  matter  peacefully,  eh?  What  do  you 
think?" 

"That  would  have  been  better,  of  course,  but  you  see 
there  is  a  difficulty  ...  I  did  not  follow  my  own 
wishes,  but  those  of  others  ...  I  learned  afterward 
that  it  would  have  been  better  if  .  .  .  but  it  was  too 
late." 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   71 

"Oh  !    I  suppose  some  lawyer  taught  you  this  ?" 

"Someone  of  that  sort." 

"Aha !    Do  you  wish  to  settle  the  affair  peacefully/' 

'^ith  all  my  heart !"  cried  the  soldier. 

Petunikoff  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  looked  at 
him,  and  suddenly  asked,  coldly  and  dryly,  "And  why 
do  you  wish  to  do  so  ?" 

Vaviloff  did  not  expect  such  a  question,  and  therefore 
had  no  reply  ready.  In  his  opinion  the  question  was 
quite  unworthy  of  any  attention,  and  so  he  laughed  at 
young  Petunikoff. 

"That  is  easy  to  understand.  Men  like  to  live  peace- 
fully with  one  another." 

"But,"  interrupted  Petunikoff,  "that  is  not  exactly 
the  reason  why.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  you  do  no^  dis- 
tinctly understand  why  you  wish  to  be  reconciled  to  us 
...  I  will  tell  you." 

The  soldier  was  a  little  surprised.  This  youngster, 
dressed  in  a  check  suit,  in  which  he  looked  ridiculous, 
spoke  as  if  he  were  Colonel  Rakshin,  who  used  to  knock 
three  of  the  unfortunate  soldier's  teeth  out  every  time  he 
was  angry. 

'TTou  want  to  be  friends  with  us  because  we  should 
be  such  useful  neighbors  to  you  .  .  .  because  there  will 
be  not  less  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  workmen  in  our 
factory,  and  in  course  of  time  even  more.  If  a  hundred 
men  come  and  drink  one  glass  at  your  place,  after  re- 
ceiving their  weekly  wages,  that  means  that  you  will 
sell  every  month  four  hundred  glasses  more  than  you 
sell  at  present.  This  is,  of  course,  the  lowest  estimate 
.  .  .  and  then  you  have  the  eating-house  besides.    You 


72       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

are  not  a  fool,  and  you  can  understand  for  yourself 
what  profitable  neighbors  we  shall  be." 

"That  is  true,"  Vaviloff  nodded  "I  knew  that  before." 

"Well,  what  then  ?"  asked  the  merchant  loudly. 

"Nothing  .   .    ,  Let  us  be  friends !" 

"It  is  nice  to  see  that  you  have  decided  so  quickly. 
Look  here,  I  have  already  prepared  a  notification  to  the 
court  of  the  withdrawal  of  the  summons  against  my 
father.    Here  it  is ;  read  it,  and  sign  it." 

Vaviloff  looked  at  his  companion  with  his  round  eyes 
and  shivered,  as  if  experiencing  an  unpleasant  sensation. 

"Pardon  me  .    .    .  sign  it?    And  why?" 

"There  is  no  difficulty  about  it  .  .  .  write  your  Chris- 
tian name  and  surname  and  nothing  more,"  explained 
Petunikoff,  pointing  obligingly  with  his  finger  to  the 
place  for  the  signature. 

"Oh !  It  is  not  that  ...  I  was  alluding  to  the 
compensation  I  was  to  get  for  my  ground." 

"But  then  this  ground  is  of  no  use  to  you,"  said  Pe- 
tunikoff calmly. 

"But  it  is  mine !"  exclaimed  the  soldier. 

"Of  course,  and  how  much  do  you  want  for  it?" 

"Well,  say  the  amount  stated  in  the  document,"  said 
Vaviloff  boldly. 

"Six  hundred !"  and  Petunikoff  smiled  softly.  "You 
are  a  funny  fellow !" 

"The  law  is  on  my  side  ...  I  can  even  demand  two 
thousand.  I  can  insist  on  your  pulling  down  the  build- 
ing .  .  .  and  enforce  it  too.  That  is  why  my  claim 
is  so  small.    I  demand  that  you  should  pull  it  down !" 

'*Very  well.    Probably  we  shall  do  so  .  .  .  after  three 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   73 

years,  and  after  having  dragged  you  into  enormous  law 
expenses.  And  then,  having  paid  up,  we  shall  open  our 
public-house,  and  you  will  be  ruined  .  .  .  annihilated 
like  the  Swedes  at  Poltava.  We  shall  see  that  you  are 
ruined  ...  we  will  take  good  care  of  that.  We  could 
have  begun  to  arrange  about  a  public-house  now,  but 
you  see  our  time  is  valuable,  and  besides  we  are  sorry 
for  you.  Why  should  we  take  the  bread  out  of  your 
mouth  without  any  reason?" 

Egor  Terentievitch  looked  at  his  guest,  clenching  his 
teeth,  and  felt  that  he  was  master  of  the  situation,  and 
held  his  fate  in  his  hands.  Vaviloff  was  full  of  pity 
for  himself  at  having  to  deal  with  this  calm,  cruel  figurij 
in  the  checked  suit. 

"And  being  such  a  near  neighbor  you  might  have 
gained  a  good  deal  by  helping  us,  and  we  should  have 
remembered  it  too.  Even  now,  for  instance,  I  should 
advise  you  to  open  a  small  shop  for  tobacco,  you  know, 
bread,  cucumbers,  and  so  on.  .  .  .  All  these  are  sure  to 
be  in  great  demand." 

Vaviloff  listened,  and  being  a  clever  man,  knew  that 
to  throw  himself  upon  the  enemy's  generosity  was  the 
better  plan.  It  was  as  well  to  begin  from  the  beginning, 
and,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do  to  relieve  his  mind, 
the  soldier  began  to  swear  at  Kuvalda. 

"Curses  be  upon  your  head,  you  drunken  rascal !  May 
the  Devil  take  you  I" 

"Do  you  mean  the  lawyer  who  composed  your  peti- 
tion ?"  asked  Petunikoff  calmly,  and  added,  with  a  sigh, 
"I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  landed  you  in  rather 
an  awkward  fix  .  .  .  had  we  not  taken  pity  upon  you." 


74       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"Ah !"  And  the  angry  soldier  raised  his  hand. 
"There  are  two  of  them  .  .  .  One  of  them  discovered 
it,  the  other  wrote  the  petition,  the  accursed  reporter !" 

"Why  the  reporter?" 

"He  writes  for  the  papers  .  .  .  He  is  one  of  your 
lodgers  .  .  .  there  they  all  are  outside  .  .  .  Clear  them 
away,  for  Christ's  sake !  The  robbers !  They  disturb 
and  annoy  everyone  in  the  street.  One  cannot  live  for 
them  .  .  .  And  they  are  all  desperate  fellows  .  .  .  You 
had  better  take  care,  or  else  they  will  rob  or  burn 
you  ..." 

"And  this  reporter,  who  is  he?"  asked  Petunikoff, 
with  interest. 

"He  ?  A  drunkard.  He  was  a  teacher,  but  was  dis- 
missed. He  drank  everything  he  possessed  .  .  .  and 
now  he  writes  for  the  papers  and  composes  petitions. 
He  is  a  very  wicked  man !" 

"H'm !  And  did  he  write  your  petition,  too  ?  I  sup- 
pose it  was  he  who  discovered  the  flaws  in  the  building. 
The  beams  were  not  rightly  put  in  ?" 

"He  did  !  I  know  it  for  a  fact !  The  dog !  He  read 
it  aloud  in  here  and  boasted,  *Now  I  have  caused  Petu- 
nikoff some  loss !' " 

"Ye — es.  .  .  Well,  then,  do  you  want  to  be  recon- 
ciled ?" 

"To  be  reconciled?"  The  soldier  lowered  his  head 
and  thought.  "Ah !  This  is  a  hard  life !"  said  he,  in 
a  querulous  voice,  scratching  his  head. 

"One  must  learn  by  experience,"  Petunikoff  reassured 
him,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"Learn  .    .    .  It  is  not  that,  my  dear  sir;  but  don't 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN       75 

you  see  there  is  no  freedom  ?  Don't  you  see  what  a  life 
I  lead?  I  live  in  fear  and  trembling  ...  I  am  re- 
fused the  freedom  so  desirable  to  me  in  my  movements, 
and  I  fear  this  ghost  of  a  teacher  will  write  about  me 
in  the  papers.  Sanitary  inspectors  will  be  called  for 
.  .  .  fines  will  have  to  be  paid  ...  or  else  your  lodgers 
will  set  fire  to  the  place  or  rob  and  kill  me  ...  I  am 
powerless  against  them.  They  are  not  the  least  afraid 
of  the  police,  and  they  like  going  to  prison,  because 
they  get  their  food  for  nothing  there." 

"But  then  we  will  have  them  turned  out  if  we  come 
to  terms  with  you,"  promised  Petunikoff. 

'^hat  shall  we  arrange,  then?"  asked  Yaviloff  sadly 
and  seriously. 

"Tell  me  your  terms." 

'^Vell,  give  me  the  six  hundred  mentioned  in  the 
claim." 

"Won't  you  take  a  hundred  roubles  ?"  asked  the  mer- 
chant calmly,  looking  attentively  at  his  companion,  and 
smiling  softly.  "I  will  not  give  you  one  rouble  more," 
...  he  added. 

After  this,  he  took  out  his  eyeglasses  and  began  clean- 
ing them  with  his  handkerchief.  Vaviloff  looked  at  him 
sadly  and  respectfully.  The  calm  face  of  Petunikoff,  his 
gray  eyes  and  clear  complexion,  every  line  of  his  thickset 
body  betokened  self-confidence  and  a  well-balanced  mind. 
Yaviloff  also  liked  Petunikoff's  straisrhtforward  man- 
ner of  addressing  him  without  any  pretensions,  as  if  he 
were  his  own  brother,  though  Vaviloff  understood  well 
enough  that  he  was  his  superior,  he  being  only  a  soldier. 
Looking  at  him,  he  grew  fonder  and  fonder  of  him,  an(i> 


76   CREATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

forgetting  for  a  moment  the  matter  in  hand,  respectfully 
asked  Petunikoff: 

"Where  did  you  study  ?" 

■*In  the  technological  institute.  Why?"  answered 
the  other,  smiling: 

"Nothing.  Only  .  .  .  excuse  me !"  The  soldier  low- 
ered his  head,  and  then  suddenly  exclaimed,  "What  a 
splendid  thing  education  is!  Science — light.  My 
brother,  I  am  as  stupid  as  an  owl  before  the  sim  .  .  . 
Your  honor,  let  us  finish  this  job/' 

With  an  air  of  decision  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
Petunikoff  and  said : 

"Well,  five  hundred?" 

"Not  more  than  one  hundred  roubles,  Egor  Terentie- 
vitch." 

Petunikoff  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  sorry  at  being 
imahle  to  give  more,  and  touched  the  soldier's  hairy 
hand  with  his  long  white  fingers.  They  soon  ended  the 
matter,  for  the  soldier  gave  in  quickly  and  met  Petuni- 
koff's  wishes.  And  when  Vaviloff  had  received  the  hun- 
dred roubles  and  signed  the  paper,  he  threw  the  pen 
down  on  the  table  and  said  bitterly: 

"Now  I  will  have  a  nice  time !  They  will  laugh  at 
me,  they  will  cry  shame  on  me,  the  devils !" 

"But  you  tell  them  that  I  paid  all  your  claim,"  sug- 
gested Petunikoff,  calmly  puffing  out  clouds  of  smoke 
and  watching  them  float  upward. 

"But  do  you  think  they  will  believe  it?  They  are  as 
clever  swindlers  if  not  worse  ..." 

Vaviloff  stopped  himself  in  time  before  making  the 
intended  comparison,  and  looked  at  the  merchant's  son 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN       77 

in  terror.  The  other  smoked  on,  and  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  that  occupation.  He  went  away  soon,  prom- 
ising to  destroy  the  nest  of  vagabonds.  Vaviloff  looked 
after  him  and  sighed,  feeling  as  if  he  would  like  to 
shout  some  insult  at  the  young  man  who  was  going  with 
such  firm  steps  toward  the  steep  road,  encumbered  with 
its  ditches  and  heaps  of  rubbish. 

In  the  evening  the  Captain  appeared  in  the  eating- 
house.  His  eyebrows  were  knit  and  his  fist  clenched. 
Vaviloff  smiled  at  him  in  a  guilty  manner. 

*^ell,  worthy  descendant  of  Judas  and  Cain,  tell 
us  .  .  ." 

"They  decided"  .  .  .  said  Yaviloff,  sighing  and  lower- 
ing his  eyes. 

"I  don't  doubt  it;  how  many  silver  pieces  did  you 
receive  ?" 

"Four  hundred  roubles'*  .  .  . 

"Of  course  you  are  lying  .  .  .  But  all  the  better  for 
me.  Without  any  further  words,  Egorka,  ten  per  cent. 
of  it  for  my  discovery,  four  per  cent,  to  the  teacher  for 
writing  the  petition,  one  *vedro'  of  vodki  to  all  of  us, 
and  refreshments  all  round.  Give  me  the  money  now, 
the  vodki  and  refreshments  will  do  at  eight  o'clock." 

Vaviloff  turned  purple  with  rage,  and  stared  at  Ku- 
valda  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"This  is  humbug !  This  is  robbery !  I  will  do  noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  What  do  you  mean,  Aristid  Fomich? 
Keep  your  appetite  for  the  next  feast !  I  am  not  afraid 
of  you  now  ..." 

Kuvalda  looked  at  the  clock. 

'T  give  you  ten  minutes,  Egorka,  for  your  idiotic  talk. 


78       CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Finish  your  nonsense  by  that  time  and  give  me  what  I 
demand.  If  you  don't  I  will  devour  you !  Kauets  has 
sold  you  something?  Did  you  read  in  the  paper  about 
the  theft  at  Basoff's  house  ?  Do  you  understand  ?  You 
won't  have  time  to  hide  anything,  we  will  not  let  you 
.   .   .  and  this  very  night  ...  do  you  understand?'* 

"Why,  Aristid  Fomich?"  sobbed  the  discomfited 
merchant. 

"No  more  words !    Did  you  understand  or  not  ?" 

Tall,  gray,  and  imposing,  Kuvalda  spoke  in  half  whis- 
pers, and  his  deep  bass  voice  rang  through  the  house. 
Vaviloff  always  feared  him  because  he  was  not  only  a 
retired  military  man,  but  a  man  who  had  nothing  to 
lose.  But  now  Kuvalda  appeared  before  him  in  a  new 
role.  He  did  not  speak  much,  and  jocosely  as  usual, 
but  spoke  in  the  tone  of  a  commander,  who  was  con- 
vinced of  the  other's  guilt.  And  Vaviloff  felt  that  the 
Captain  could  and  would  ruin  him  with  the  greatest 
pleasure.  He  must  needs  bow  before  this  power.  Never- 
theless, the  soldier  thought  of  trying  him  once  more. 
He  sighed  deeply,  and  began  with  apparent  calmness : 

"It  is  truly  said  that  a  man's  sin  will  find  him 
out  ...  I  lied  to  you,  Aristid  Fomich,  ...  I  tried 
to  be  cleverer  than  I  am  ...  I  only  received  one  hvm- 
dred  roubles." 

"Go  on  !"  said  Kuvalda. 

"And  not  four  hundred  as  I  told  you  .  .  .  That 
means  .   .   ." 

"It  does  not  mean  anything.  It  is  all  the  same  to  me 
whether  you  lied  or  not.  You  owe  me  sixty-five  roubles. 
That  is  not  much,  eh?" 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   79 

"Oh  !  my  Lord !  Aristid  Fomich  !  I  have  always  been 
attentive  to  your  honor  and  done  my  best  to  please  you." 

*T)rop  all  that,  Egorka,  grandchild  of  Judas!"' 

"All  right!  I  will  give  it  you  .  .  ,  only  God  will 
punish  you  for  this.  ..." 

"Silence  !  You  rotten  pimple  of  the  earth !"  shouted 
the  Captain,  rolling  his  eyes.  "He  has  punished  me 
enough  already  in  forcing  me  to  have  conversation  with 
you.  ...  I  will  kill  you  on  the  spot  like  a  fly!" 

He  shook  his  fist  in  Vaviloff's  face  and  ground  his 
teeth  till  they  nearly  broke. 

After  he  had  gone  Vaviloff  began  smiling  and  winking 
to  himself.  Then  two  large  drops  rolled  down  his 
cheeks.  They  were  grayish,  and  they  hid  themselves 
in  his  moustache,  while  two  others  followed  them.  Then 
Vaviloff  went  into  his  own  room  and  stood  before  the 
icon,  stood  there  without  prajring,  immovable,  with  the 
salt  tears  running  down  his  wrinkled  brown  cheeks.  .  .  . 

4:  *  *  *  4: 

Deacon  Taras,  who,  as  a  rule,  loved  to  loiter  in  the 
woods  and  fields,  proposed  to  the  "creatures  that  once 
were  men"  that  they  should  go  together  into  the  fields, 
and  there  drink  Yaviloff's  vodki  in  the  bosom  of  Na- 
ture. But  the  Captain  and  all  the  rest  swore  at  the 
Deacon,  and  decided  to  drink  it  in  the  courtyard. 

"One,  two,  three,"  counted  Aristid  Fomich ;  "our  full 
number  is  thirty,  the  teacher  is  not  here  .  .  .  but  prob- 
ably many  other  outcasts  will  come.  Let  us  calculate, 
say,  twenty  persons,  and  to  every  person  two-and-a-half 
cucumbers,  a  pound  of  bread,  and  a  pound  of  meat 
.    .    .  That  won't  be  bad !     One  bottle  of  vodki  each. 


80       CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

and  there  is  plenty  of  sour  cabbage,  and  three  water- 
melons. I  ask  you,  what  the  deril  could  you  want  more, 
my  scoundrel  friends?  Now,  then,  let  us  prepare  to 
devour  Egorka  Vaviloff,  because  all  this  is  his  blood 
and  body  \" 

They  spread  some  old  clothes  on  the  ground,  setting 
the  delicacies  and  the  drink  on  them,  and  sat  around 
the  feast,  solemnly  and  quietly,  but  almost  unable  to 
control  the  craving  for  drink  that  was  shining  in  their 
eyes. 

The  evening  began  to  fall,  and  its  shadows  were  cast 
on  the  human  refuse  of  the  earth  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  dosshouse;  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  illumined  the 
roof  of  the  tumble-down  building.  The  night  was  cold 
and  silent. 

"Let  us  begin,  brothers !"  commanded  the  Captain. 
"How  many  cups  have  we?  Six  .  .  .  and  there  are 
thirty  of  us !  Aleksei  Maksimovitch,  pour  it  out.  Is  it 
ready?    Now  then,  the  first  toast.  .    .    .  Come  along!" 

They  drank  and  shouted,  and  began  to  eat. 

"The  teacher  is  not  here.  .  .  I  have  not  seen  him 
for  three  days.   Has  anyone  seen  him  ?"  asked  Kuvalda. 

"No  one." 

"It  is  unlike  .  .  .  Let  us  drink  to  the  health  of 
Aristid  Kuvalda  .  .  .  the  only  friend  who  has  never 
deserted  me  for  one  moment  of  my  life  !  Devil  take  him 
all  the  same !  I  might  have  had  something  to  wear  had 
he  left  my  society  at  least  for  a  little  while." 

"You  are  bitter  ..."  said  Abyedok,  and  coughed. 

The  Captain,  with  his  feeling  of  superiority  to  the 
others,  never  talked  with  his  mouth  full. 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   81 

Having  drunk  twice,  the  company  began  to  grow 
merry;  the  food  was  grateful  to  them. 

Paltara  Taras  expressed  his  desire  to  hear  a  tale,  but 
the  Deacon  was  arguing  with  Kubaroff  over  his  pre- 
ferring thin  women  to  stout  ones,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  his  friend's  request.  He  was  asserting  his  views  on 
the  subject  to  Kubaroff  with  all  the  decision  of  a  man 
who  was  deeply  convinced  in  his  own  mind. 

The  foolish  face  of  Meteor,  who  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  showed  that  he  was  drinking  in  the  Deacon's 
strong  words. 

Martyanoff  sat,  clasping  his  large  hairy  hands  round 
his  knees,  looking  silently  and  sadly  at  the  bottle  of 
vodki  and  pulling  his  moustache  as  if  trying  to  bite  it 
with  his  teeth,  while  Abyedok  was  teasing  Tyapa. 

"I  have  seen  you  watching  the  place  where  your 
money  is  hidden  !"  , 

"That  is  your  luck,"  shouted  Tyapa. 

"I  will  go  halves  with  you,  brother." 

"All  right,  take  it  and  welcome." 

Kuvalda  felt  angry  with  these  men.  Among  them  all 
there  was  not  one  worthy  of  hearing  his  oratory  or  of 
understanding  him. 

"I  wonder  where  the  teacher  is  ?"  he  asked  loudly. 

Martyanoff  looked  at  him  and  said,  "He  will  come 
soon"  .    .    . 

"I  am  positive  that  he  will  come,  but  he  won't  come 
in  a  carriage.  Let  us  drink  to  your  future  health.  If 
you  kill  any  rich  man  go  halves  with  me  .  .  .  then  I 
shall  go  to  America,  brother.  To  those  .  .  ,  what  do 
you  call  them?     Limpas?     Pampas?     I  will  go  there 


82   CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

and  I  will  work  my  way  until  I  become  the  President 
of  the  United  States,  and  then  I  will  challenge  the 
whole  of  Europe  to  war  and  I  will  blow  it  up !  I  will 
buy  the  army  ...  in  Europe  that  is — I  will  invite  the 
French,  the  Germans,  the  Turks,  and  so  on,  and  I  will 
kill  them  by  the  hands  of  their  own  relatives  .  .  .  Just 
as  Elia  Marumets  bought  a  Tartar  with  a  Tartar,  With 
money  it  would  be  possible  even  for  Elia  to  destroy  the 
whole  of  Europe  and  to  take  Judas  Petunikoff  for  his 
valet.  He  would  go.  .  .  Give  him  a  hundred  roubles 
a  month  and  he  would  go !  But  he  would  be  a  bad 
valet,  because  he  would  soon  begin  to  steal  ..." 

"Now,  besides  that,  the  thin  woman  is  better  than  the 
stout  one,  because  she  costs  one  less,"  said  the  Deacon, 
convincingly.  "My  first  Deaconess  used  to  buy  twelve 
arshins  for  her  clothes,  but  the  second  one  only  ten. 
.  .  .  And  so  on  even  in  the  matter  of  provisions  and 
food." 

Paltara  Taras  smiled  guiltily.  Turning  his  head 
towards  the  Deacon  and  looking  straight  at  him,  he 
said,  with  conviction: 

"I  had  a  wife  once,  too." 

"Oh !  That  happens  to  everyone,"  remarked  Ku- 
valda;  '^ut  go  on  with  your  lies." 

"She  was  thin,  but  she  ate  a  lot,  and  even  died  from 
over-eating." 

"You  poisoned  her,  you  hunchback!"  said  Abyedok, 
confidently. 

"No,  by  God !  It  was  from  eating  sturgeon,"  said 
Paltara  Taras. 

"But  I  say  that  you  poisoned  her!"  declared  Abye- 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   83 

dok,  decisively.  It  often  happened,  that  having  said 
something  absolutely  impossible  and  without  proof,  he 
kept  on  repeating  it,  beginning  in  a  childish,  capricious 
tone,  and  gradually  raising  his  voice  to  a  mad  shriek. 

The  Deacon  stood  up  for  his  friend.  "No;  he  did 
not  poison  her.    He  had  no  reason  to  do  so." 

"But  I  say  that  he  poisoned  her  \"  swore  Abyedok. 

"Silence  I"  shouted  the  Captain,  threateningly,  becom- 
ing still  angrier.  He  looked  at  his  friends  with  his 
blinking  eyes,  and  not  discovering  anything  to  further 
provoke  his  rage  in  their  half-tipsy  faces,  he  lowered 
his  head,  sat  still  for  a  little  while,  and  then  turned 
over  on  his  back  on  the  ground.  Meteor  was  biting 
cucumbers.  He  took  a  cucumber  in  his  hand  without 
looking  at  it,  put  nearly  half  of  it  into  his  mouth,  and 
bit  it  with  his  yellow  teeth,  so  that  the  juice  spurted 
out  in  all  directions  and  ran  over  his  cheeks.  He  did 
not  seem  to  want  to  eat,  but  this  process  pleased  him. 
Martyanoff  sat  motionless  on  the  ground,  like  a  statue, 
and  looked  in  a  dull  manner  at  the  half-vedro  bottle, 
already  getting  empty.  Abyedok  lay  on  his  belly  and 
coughed,  shaking  all  over  his  small  body.  The  rest  of 
the  dark,  silent  figures  sat  and  lay  around  in  all  sorts 
of  positions,  and  their  tatters  made  them  look  like  un- 
tidy animals,  created  by  some  strange,  uncouth  deity  to 
make  a  mockery  of  man. 


"There  once  lived  a  lady  in  Suzdale, 
A  strange  lady, 
She  fell  into  hysterics, 
Most  unpleasantly !" 


84      CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

sang  the  Deacon  in  low  tones  embracing  Aleksei  Maksi- 
movitch,  who  was  smiling  kindly  into  his  face. 

Paltaras  Taras  giggled  voluptuously. 

The  night  was  approaching.  High  up  in  the  sky  the 
stars  were  shining  .  .  .  and  on  the  mountain  and  in 
the  town  the  lights  of  the  lamps  were  appearing.  The 
whistles  of  the  steamers  were  heard  all  over  the  river, 
and  the  doors  of  Vaviloff's  eating-house  opened  noisily. 
Two  dark  figures  entered  the  courtyard,  and  one  of 
them  asked  in  a  hoarse  voice: 

"Are  you  drinking  ?"  And  the  other  said  in  a  jealous 
aside : 

"Just  see  what  devils  they  are !" 

Then  a  hand  stretched  over  the  Deacon's  head  and 
took  away  the  bottle,  and  the  characteristic  sound  of 
vodki  being  poured  into  a  glass  was  heard.  Then  they 
all  protested  loudly. 

"Oh  this  is  sad !"  shouted  the  Deacon.  "Krivoi,  let 
us  remember  the  ancients !  Let  us  sing  *0n  the  Banks 
of  Babylonian  Rivers.' " 

"But  can  he  ?"  asked  Simtsoff . 

"He  ?  He  was  a  chorister  in  the  Bishop's  choir.  Now 
then,  Krivoi !  .  .  .  On  the  r-i-v-e-r-s "  The  Dea- 
con's voice  was  loud  and  hoarse  and  cracked,  but  his 
friend  sang  in  a  shrill  falsetto. 

The  dirty  building  loomed  large  in  the  darkness  and 
seemed  to  be  coming  nearer,  threatening  the  singers, 
who  were  arousing  its  dull  echoes.  The  heavy,  pom- 
pous clouds  were  floating  in  the  sky  over  their  heads. 
One  of  the  "creatures  that  once  were  men"  was  snoring ; 
while  the  rest  of  them,  not  yet  so  drunk  as  he  was,  ate 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEKE  MEN      85 

and  drank  quietly  or  spoke  to  each  other  at  long  in- 
tervals. 

It  was  unusual  for  them  to  be  in  such  low  spirits 
during  such  a  feast,  with  so  much  vodki.  Somehow  the 
drink  tonight  did  not  seem  to  have  its  usual  exhilarat- 
ing effect. 

"Stop  howling,  you  dogs !"  .  .  .  said  the  Captain  to 
the  singers,  raising  his  head  from  the  ground  to  listen. 
"Some  one  is  passing  .    .    .  in  a  droshky.  .    .    ." 

A  droshky  at  such  a  time  in  the  main  street  could  not 
but  attract  general  attention.  Wlio  would  risk  crossing 
the  ditches  between  it  and  the  town,  and  why?  They 
all  raised  their  heads  and  listened.  In  the  silence  of  the 
night  the  wheels  were  distinctly  heard.  They  came 
gradually  nearer.    A  voice  was  heard,  asking  roughly : 

"Well,  where  then  ?" 

Someone  answered,  "It  must  be  there,  that  house." 

"I  shall  not  go  any  farther." 

"They  are  coming  here !"  shouted  the  Captain. 

"The  police !"  someone  whispered  in  great  alarm. 

"In  a  droshky !    Fool !"  said  Martyanoff,  quietly. 

Kuvalda  got  up  and  went  to  the  entrance. 

"Is  this  a  lodging-house  ?"  asked  someone,  in  a  tremb- 
ling voice. 

"Yes.  Belonging  to  Aristid  Kuvalda  ..."  said  the 
Captain,  roughly. 

"Oh  !    Did  a  reporter,  one  Titoff,  live  here  ?" 

"Aha !    Have  you  brought  him  ?" 

"Yes  ..." 

"Drunk?'' 

"111." 


86   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

"That  means  he  is  very  drunk.  Ay,  teacher  I  Now, 
then,  get  up  V 

"Wait,  I  will  help  you  .  .  .  He  is  very  ill  .  .  .  he 
has  been  with  me  for  the  last  two  days  ,  .  .  Take  him 
under  the  arms  .  .  .  The  doctor  has  seen  him.  He  is 
very  bad.'* 

Tyapa  got  up  and  walked  to  the  entrance,  but  Abye- 
dok  laughed,  and  took  another  drink. 

"Strike  a  light,  there !"  shouted  the  Captain. 

Meteor  went  into  the  house  and  lighted  the  lamp. 
Then  a  thin  line  of  light  streamed  out  over  the  court- 
yard, and  the  Captain  and  another  man  managed  to  get 
the  teacher  into  the  dosshouse.  His  head  was  hanging 
on  his  breast,  his  feet  trailed  on  the  ground,  and  his 
arms  hung  limply  as  if  broken.  With  Tyapp/s  help  they 
placed  him  on  a  wide  board.    He  was  shivering  all  over. 

"We  worked  on  the  same  paper  .  .  .  he  is  very  un- 
lucky. ...  I  said,  'Stay  in  my  house,  you  are  not 
in  the  way,'  .  .  .  but  he  begged  me  to  send  him  'home.' 
He  was  so  excited  about  it  that  I  brought  him  here, 
thinking  it  might  do  him  good.  .  .  .  Home !  This  is 
it,  isn't  it?" 

"Do  you  suppose  he  has  a  home  anywhere  else?" 
asked  Kuvalda,  roughly,  looking  at  his  friend.  "Ty- 
apa, fetch  me  some  cold  water." 

"I  fancy  I  am  of  no  more  use,"  remarked  the  man  in 
some  confusion.  The  Captain  looked  at  him  critically. 
His  clothes  were  rather  shiny,  and  tightly  buttoned  up 
to  his  chin.  His  trousers  were  frayed,  his  hat  almost 
yellow  with  age  and  crumpled  like  his  lean  and  hungry 
face. 


CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   87 

**No,  you  are  not  necessary !  We  have  plenty  like  yon 
here/'  said  the  Captain,  turning  away. 

"Then,  good-bye  \"  The  man  went  to  the  door,  and 
said  quietly  from  there,  "If  anything  happens  ...  let 
me  know  in  the  publishing  office.  .  .  .  My  name  is 
Eijoff.  I  might  write  a  short  obituary.  .  .  .  You  see 
he  was  an  active  member  of  the  Press." 

"H'm,  an  obituary,  you  say?  Twenty  lines  forty  ko- 
pecks? I  will  do  more  than  that.  When  he  dies  I  will 
cut  off  one  of  his  legs  and  send  it  to  you.  That  will 
be  much  more  profitable  than  an  obituary.  It  will  last 
you  for  three  days.  .  .  .  His  legs  are  fat.  You  de- 
voured him  when  he  was  alive.  You  may  as  well  con- 
tinue to  do  so  after  he  is  dead  ..." 

The  man  sniffed  strangely  and  disappeared.  The 
Captain  sat  down  on  the  wooden  board  beside  the 
teacher,  felt  his  forehead  and  breast  with  his  hands  and 
called  "Philip !" 

The  sound  re-echoed  from  the  dirty  walls  of  the  doss- 
house  and  died  away. 

"This  is  absurd,  brother,"  said  the  Captain,  quietly 
arranging  the  teacher's  untidy  hair  with  his  hand.  Then 
the  Captain  listened  to  his  breathing,  which  was  rapid 
and  uneven,  and  looked  at  his  sunken  gray  face.  He 
sighed  and  looked  upon  him,  knitting  his  eyebrows.  The 
lamp  was  a  bad  one  .  .  .  The  light  was  fitful,  and  dark 
shadows  flickered  on  the  dosshouse  walls.  The  Captain 
watched  them,  scratching  his  beard. 

Tyapa  returned,  bringing  a  vedro  of  water,  and  plac- 
ing it  beside  the  teacher's  head,  he  took  his  arm  as  if  to 
raise  him  up. 


88   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"The  water  is  not  necessary,"  and  the  Captain  shook 
his  head. 

"But  we  must  try  to  revive  him,"  said  the  old  rag- 
collector. 

"Nothing  is  needed,"  said  the  Captain,  decidedly. 

They  sat  silently  looking  at  the  teacher. 

"Let  us  go  and  drink,  old  devil !" 

"But  he  ?" 

"Can  you  do  him  any  good?" 

Tyapa  turned  his  back  on  the  teacher,  and  both  went 
out  into  the  courtyard  to  their  companions. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Abyedok,  turning  his  sharp  nose 
to  the  old  man. 

The  snoring  of  those  who  were  asleep,  and  the  tink- 
ling sound  of  pouring  vodki  was  heard.  .  .  .  The 
Deacon  was  murmuring  something.  The  clouds  swam 
low,  so  low  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  would  touch  the 
roof  of  the  house  and  would  knock  it  over  on  the  group 
of  men. 

"Ah !  One  feels  sad  when  someone  near  at  hand  is 
dying,"  faltered  the  Captain,  with  his  head  down.  No 
one  answered  him. 

"He  was  the  best  among  you  .  .  .  the  cleverest,  the 
most  respectable  ...  I  mourn  for  him." 

"E-e-s-t  with  the  Saints.  .  .  .  Sing,  you  crooked 
hunchback !"  roared  the  Deacon,  digging  his  friend  in 
the  ribs. 

"Be  quiet !"  shouted  Abyedok,  jumping  vengefully  to 
his  feet. 

"I  will  give  him  one  on  the  head,"  proposed  Mar- 
tyanoff,  raising  his  head  from  the  ground. 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   89 

"You  are  not  asleep  ?"  Aristid  Fomich  asked  him  very 
softly.    "Have  you  heard  about  our  teacher  ?" 

Martyanoff  lazily  got  up  from  the  ground,  looked  at 
the  line  of  light  coming  out  of  the  dosshouse,  shook 
his  head  and  silently  sat  down  beside  the  Captain. 

"Nothing  particular  .  .  .  The  man  is  dying  ..." 
remarked  the  Captain,  shortly. 

"Have  they  been  beating  him?"  asked  Abyedok,  with 
great  interest.  The  Captain  gave  no  answer.  He  was 
drinking  vodki  at  the  moment.  "They  must  have  known 
we  had  something  in  which  to  commemorate  him  after 
his  death !"  continued  Abyedok,  lighting  a  cigarette. 
Someone  laughed,  someone  sighed.  Generally  speaking, 
the  conversation  of  Abyedok  and  the  Captain  did  not 
interest  them,  and  they  hated  having  to  think  at  all. 
They  had  always  felt  the  teacher  to  be  an  uncommon 
man,  but  now  many  of  them  were  drunk  and  the  others 
sad  and  silent.  Only  the  Deacon  suddenly  drew  him- 
self up  straight  and  howled  wildly: 

"And  may  the  righteous  r — e — s — t!" 

'Ton  idiot!"  hissed  Abyedok.  "What  are  you  howl- 
ing for  ?" 

"Fool !"  said  Tyapa's  hoarse  voice.  ^'When  a  man  is 
dying  one  must  be  quiet  ...  so  that  he  may  have 
peace." 

Silence  reigned  once  more.  The  cloudy  sky  threat- 
ened thunder,  and  the  earth  was  covered  with  the  thick 
darkness  of  an  autumn  night. 

"Let  us  go  on  drinking!"  proposed  Kuvalda,  filling 
up  the  glasses. 

"I  will  go  and  see  if  he  wants  anything,"  said  Tyapa. 


90   CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN" 

"He  wants  a  coffin  !"  jeered  the  Captain. 

"Don't  speak  about  that,"  begged  Abyedok  in  a  low 
voice. 

Meteor  rose  and  followed  Tyapa.  The  Deacon  tried 
to  get  up,  but  fell  and  swore  loudly. 

When  Tyapa  had  gone  the  Captain  touched  Martyan- 
off's  shoulder  and  said  in  low  tones: 

"Well,  Martyanoff  .  .  .  You  must  feel  it  more  than 
the  others.  You  were  .  .  .  But  let  that  go  to  the 
Devil  .  .   .     Don't  you  pity  Philip  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  ex- jailer,  quietly,  "I  do  not  feel  things 
of  this  sort,  brother  ...  I  have  learned  better  .  .  . 
this  life  is  disgusting  after  all.  I  speak  seriously  when 
I  say  that  I  should  like  to  kill  someone." 

"Do  you  ?"  said  the  Captain,  indistinctly.  "Well  .  .  . 
let's  have  another  drink  .  .  .  It's  not  a  long  job  outs, 
a  little  drink  and  then  ..." 

The  others  began  to  wake  up,  and  Simtsoff  shouted  in 
a  blissful  voice:  "Brothers!  One  of  you  pour  out  a 
glass  for  the  old  man  !" 

They  poured  out  a  glass  and  gave  it  to  him.  Having 
drunk  it  he  tumbled  down  again,  knocking  against  an- 
other man  as  he  fell.  Two  or  three  minutes'  silence  en- 
sued, dark  as  the  autumn  night. 

"What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I  say  that  he  was  a  good  man  ...  a  quiet  and  good 
man,"  whispered  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  and  he  had  money,  too  .  .  .  and  he  never  re- 
fused it  to  a  friend  ..." 

Again  silence  ensued. 

"He  is  dying !"  said  Tyapa,  hoarsely,  from  behind  the 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   91 

Captain's  head.  Aristid  Fomich  got  up,  and  went  with 
firm  steps  into  the  dosshouse. 

"Don't  go  !"  Tyapa  stopped  him.  "Don't  go !  You 
are  drunk !  It  is  not  right."  The  Captain  stopped  and 
thought. 

"And  what  is  right  on  this  earth  ?  Go  to  the  Devil !" 
And  he  pushed  Tyapa  aside. 

On  the  walls  of  the  dosshouse  the  shadows  were 
creeping,  seeming  to  chase  each  other.  The  teacher 
lay  on  the  board  at  full  length  and  snored.  His  eyes 
were  wide  open,  his  naked  breast  rose  and  fell  heavily, 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  foamed,  and  on  his  face  was 
an  expression  as  if  he  wished  to  say  something  very 
important,  but  found  it  difficult  to  do  so.  The  Cap- 
tain stood  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  looked  at 
him  in  silence.    He  then  began  in  a  silly  way : 

"Philip  !  Say  something  to  me  .  .  .a  word  of  com- 
fort to  a  friend  .  .  .  come.  ...  I  love  you,  brother ! 
.  .  .  All  men  are  beasts.  .  .  .  You  were  the  only  man 
for  me  .  .  .  though  you  were  a  drunkard.  Ah !  how 
you  did  drink  vodki,  Philip !  That  was  the  ruin  of 
you !  You  ought  to  have  listened  to  me,  and  controlled 
yourself.  .   .   .     Did  I  not  once  say  to  you  .    .    .  ?" 

The  mysterious,  all-destroying  reaper,  called  Death, 
made  up  his  mind  to  finish  the  terrible  work  quickly, 
as  if  insulted  by  the  presence  of  this  drunken  man  at 
the  dark  and  solemn  struggle.  The  teacher  sighed 
deeply,  and  quivered  all  over,  stretched  himself  out,  and 
died.  The  Captain  stood  shaking  to  and  fro,  and  con- 
tinued to  talk  to  him. 

*T)o  you  want  me  to  bring  you  vodki  ?  But  it  is  better 


92       CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

that  you  should  not  drink,  Philip  .  .  .  control  yourself 
or  else  drink !  Why  should  you  really  control  yourself  ? 
For  what  reason,  Philip?     For  what  reason?" 

He  took  him  by  the  foot  and  drew  him  closer  to 
himself. 

"Are  you  dozing,  Philip?  Well,  then,  sleep  .  .  . 
Good-night.  .  .  .  To-morrow  I  shall  explain  all  this 
to  you,  and  you  will  understand  that  it  is  not  really 
necessary  to  deny  yourself  anything.  .  .  .  But  go  on 
sleeping  now  ...  if  you  are  not  dead." 

He  went  out  to  his  friends,  followed  by  the  deep 
silence,  and  informed  them : 

"Whether  he  is  sleeping  or  dead,  I  do  not  know  .  .  . 
I  am  a  little  drunk." 

Tyapa  bent  further  forward  than  usual  and  crossed 
himself  respectfully.  Martyanoff  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  lay  there.  Abyedok  moved  quietly,  and  said  in  a 
low  and  wicked  tone: 

"May  you  all  go  to  the  Devil!  Dead?  What  of 
that?  Why  should  I  care?  Why  should  I  speak  about 
it?  It  will  be  time  enough  when  I  come  to  die  my- 
self.    ...     I  am  not  worse  than  other  people." 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  Captain,  loudly,  and  fell  to 
the  ground.  "The  time  will  come  when  we  shall  all  die 
like  others.  ,  .  .  Ha !  ha !  How  shall  we  live  ?  .  .  . 
That  is  nothing.  .  .  .  But  we  shall  die  like  everyone 
else,  and  this  is  the  whole  end  of  life,  take  my  word 
for  it.  A  man  lives  only  to  die,  and  he  dies  .  .  .  and 
if  this  be  so  what  does  it  matter  how  or  where  he  died 
or  how  he  lived?  Am  I  right,  Martyanoff?  Let  us 
therefore  drink     .     .     .     while  we  still  have  life !" 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN   93 

The  rain  began  to  fall.  Thick,  close  darkness  cov- 
ered the  figures  that  lay  scattered  over  the  ground,  half 
drunk,  half  asleep.  The  light  in  the  windows  of  the 
dosshouse  flickered,  paled,  and  suddenly  disappeared. 
Probably  the  wind  blew  it  out  or  else  the  oil  was  ex- 
hausted. The  drops  of  rain  sounded  strangely  on  the 
iron  roof  of  the  dosshouse.  Above  the  mountain  where 
the  town  lay  the  ringing  of  bells  was  heard,  rung  by 
the  watchers  in  the  churches.  The  brazen  sound  com- 
ing from  the  belfry  rang  out  into  the  dark  and  died 
away,  and  before  its  last  indistinct  note  was  drowned 
another  stroke  was  heard  and  the  monotonous  silence 
was  again  broken  by  the  melancholy  clang  of  bells. 


The  next  morning  Tyapa  was  the  first  to  wake  up. 
Lying  on  his  back  he  looked  up  into  the  sky.  Only  in 
such  a  position  did  his  deformed  neck  permit  him  to 
see  the  clouds  above  his  head. 

This  morning  the  sky  was  of  a  uniform  gray.  Up 
there  hung  the  damp,  cold  mist  of  dawn,  almost  extin- 
guishing the  sun,  hiding  the  unknown  vastness  behind 
and  pouring  despondency  over  the  earth.  Tyapa  crossed 
himself,  and  leaning  on  his  elbow,  looked  round  to  see 
whether  there  was  any  vodki  left.  The  bottle  was  there, 
but  it  was  empty.  Crossing  over  his  companions  he 
looked  into  the  glasses  from  which  they  had  drunk, 
found  one  of  them  almost  full,  emptied  it,  wiped  his 
lips  with  his  sleeve,  and  began  to  shake  the  Captain. 

The  Captain  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  him  with 
sad  eyes. 


94       CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"We  must  inform  the  police  .   .   .     Get  up  !" 

"Of  what?"  asked  the  Captain,  sleepily  and  angrily. 

"What,  is  he  not  dead?"  .   .   . 

"Who?" 

"The  learned  one."  .  .   . 

"Philip?    Ye-es!" 

"Did  you  forget?  .  .  .  Alas!"  said  Tyapa,  hoarsely. 
The  Captain  rose  to  his  feet,  yawned  and  stretched  him- 
self till  all  his  bones  cracked. 

"Well,  then!     Go  and  give  information.  ..." 

"I  will  not  go  .  .  .  I  do  not  like  them,"  said  the 
Captain  morosely. 

*^ell,  then,  wake  up  the  Deacon  ...  I  shall  go, 
at  any  rate." 

"All  right !  .  .  .  Deacon,  get  up  !" 

The  Captain  entered  the  dosshouse,  and  stood  at  the 
teacher's  feet.  The  dead  man  lay  at  full  length,  his  left 
hand  on  his  breast,  the  right  hand  held  as  if  ready  to 
strike  some  one. 

The  Captain  thought  that  if  the  teacher  got  up  now, 
he  would  be  as  tall  as  Paltara  Taras.  Then  he  sat  by 
the  side  of  the  dead  man  and  sighed,  as  he  remembered 
that  they  had  lived  together  for  the  last  three  years. 
Tyapa  entered  holding  his  head  like  a  goat  which  is 
ready  tc  butt. 

He  sat  down  quietly  and  seriously  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  teacher's  body,  looked  into  the  dark,  silent  face, 
and  began  to  sob. 

"So  .  .   .  he  is  dead  ...  I  too  shall  die  soon  ..." 

"It  is  quite  time  for  that!"  said  the  Captain, 
gloomily. 


CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEKE  MEN       95 

"It  is,"  Tyapa  agreed,  "You  ought  to  die  too.  .  .  . 
Anything  is  better  than  this.  ..." 

"But  perhaps  death  might  be  worse?  How  do  you 
know?" 

"It  could  not  be  worse.  When  you  die  you  have  only 
God  to  deal  with  .  .  .  but  here  you  have  to  deal  with 
men  .   .    .  and  men — what  are  they?" 

"Enough!  ...  Be  quiet!"  interrupted  Kuvalda 
angrily. 

And  in  the  dawn,  which  filled  the  dosshouse,  a  soL 
emn  stillness  reigned  over  all.  Long  and  silently  they 
sat  at  the  feet  of  their  dead  companion,  seldom  looking 
at  him,  and  both  plunged  in  thought.  Then  Tyapa 
asked : 

"Will  you  bury  him  ?" 

"I  ?    No,  let  the  police  bury  him !" 

"You  took  money  from  Vaviloif  for  this  petition  .  .  . 
and  I  will  give  you  some  if  you  have  not  enough."  .   .   . 

"Though  I  have  his  money  .  .  .  still  I  shall  not  bury 
him." 

"That  is  not  right.  You  are  robbing  the  dead.  I 
will  tell  them  all  that  you  want  to  keep  his  money." 
.  .  .  Tyapa  threatened  him. 

"You  are  a  fool,  you  old  devil!"  said  Kuvtvlda, 
contemptuously. 

"I  am  not  a  fool  .  .  .  but  it  is  not  right  nor 
friendly." 

"Enough !    Be  off !" 

"How  much  money  is  there?" 

"Twenty-five  roubles,"  .    .    .  said  Kuvalda,  absently. 

"So !  .   .   .  You  might  gain  a  five-rouble  note.*-   .   .   . 


96   CKEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

**you  old  scoundrel!  ..."  And  looking  into  Ty- 
apa*s  face  the  Captain  swore. 

"Well,  what?    Give  ..." 

"Go  to  the  Devil!  ...  I  am  going  to  spend  this 
money  in  erecting  a  monument  to  him." 

"What  does  he  want  that  for?" 

"I  will  buy  a  stone  and  an  anchor.  I  shall  place  the 
stone  on  the  grass,  and  attach  the  anchor  to  it  with  a 
very  heavy  chain." 

"Why  ?    You  are  playing  tricks  ..." 

"Well  .   .   .  It  is  no  business  of  yours." 

"Look  out!  I  shall  tell  ..."  again  threatened 
Tyapa. 

Aristid  Fomich  looked  at  him  sullenly  and  said 
nothing.  Again  they  sat  there  in  that  silence  which,  in 
the  presence  of  the  dead,  is  so  full  of  mystery. 

"listen  .  .  .  They  are  coming !"  Tyapa  got  up 
and  went  out  of  the  dosshouse. 

Then  there  appeared  at  the  door  the  Doctor,  the 
Police  Inspector  of  the  district,  and  the  examining 
Magistrate  or  Coroner.  All  three  cam_e  in  turn,  looked 
at  the  dead  teacher,  and  then  went  out,  throwing  sus- 
picious glances  at  Kuvalda,  He  sat  there,  without  tak- 
ing any  notice  of  them,  until  the  Police  Inspector  asked 
him: 

"Of  what  did  he  die?" 

"Ask  him  ...  I  think  his  evil  life  hastened  his 
end." 

'n^at?"  asked  the  Coroner. 

'I  say  that  he  died  of  a  disease  to  which  he  had  not 
ly-'^n  accustomed  ..." 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN   97 

"H'm,  yes.     Had  he  been  ill  long?'* 

"Bring  him  over  here,  I  cannot  see  him  properly," 
said  the  Doctor,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "Probably  there 
are  signs  of  .    .    ." 

"Now,  then,  ask  someone  here  to  carry  him  out !"  the 
Police  Inspector  ordered  Kuvalda. 

"Go  and  ask  them  yourself !  He  is  not  in  my  way 
here  ..."  the  Captain  replied,  indifferently. 

"Well  \"  .  .  .  shouted  the  Inspector,  making  a  fero- 
cious face. 

"Phew  !"  answered  Kuvalda,  without  moving  from  his 
place  and  gnashing  his  teeth  restlessly. 

"The  Devil  take  it !"  shouted  the  Inspector,  so  madly 
that  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face.  "I'll  make  you  pay 
for  this!    I'll " 

"Good-morning,  gentlemen !"  said  the  merchant  Pe- 
tunikoff,  with  a  sweet  smile,  making  his  appearance  in 
the  doorway. 

He  looked  round,  trembled,  took  off  his  cap  and 
crossed  himself.  Then  a  pompous,  wicked  smile  crossed 
his  face,  and,  looking  at  the  Captain,  he  inquired  re- 
spectfully : 

"What  has  happened?  Has  there  been  a  murder 
here?" 

"Yes,  something  of  that  sort,"  replied  the  Coroner. 

Petunikoff  sighed  deeply,  crossed  himself  again,  and 
spoke  in  an  angry  tone. 

"By  God !  It  is  just  as  I  feared.  It  always  ends  in 
your  having  to  come  here.  .  .  .  Ay,  ay,  ay !  God  save 
everyone.  Times  without  number  have  I  refused  to 
lease  this  house  to  this  man,  and  he  has  always  won 


98       CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

me  over,  and  I  was  afraid.  You  know.  .  .  .  They  are 
such  awful  people  .  .  .  better  give  it  them,  I  thought, 
or  else  ..." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  tugged  at  hie 
beard,  and  sighed  again. 

"They  are  very  dangerous  men,  and  this  man  here  is 
their  leader  .   .   .  the  attaman  of  the  robbers." 

"But  we  will  make  him  smart !"  promised  the  In- 
spector, looking  at  the  Captain  with  revengeful  eyes. 

"Yes,  brother,  we  are  old  friends  of  yours  ..."  said 
Kuvalda  in  a  familiar  tone.  "How  many  times  have  I 
paid  you  to  be  quiet?" 

"Gentlemen !"  shouted  the  Inspector,  "did  you  hear 
him  ?  I  want  you  to  bear  witness  to  this.  Aha,  I  shall 
make  short  work  of  you,  my  friend,  remember !" 

"Don't  count  your  chickens  before  they  are  hatched 
.   .   .  my  friend,"  said  Aristid  Fomich. 

The  Doctor,  a  young  man  with  eye-glasses,  looked  at 
him  curiously,  the  Coroner  with  an  attention  that  boded 
him  no  good,  PetunikofE  with  triumph,  while  the  In- 
spector could  hardly  restrain  himself  from  throwing 
himself  upon  him. 

The  dark  figure  of  MartyanoflE  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  dosshouse.  He  entered  quietly,  and  stood  be- 
hind Petunikoff,  so  that  his  chin  was  on  a  level  with 
the  merchant's  head.  Behind  him  stood  the  Deacon, 
opening  his  small,  swollen,  red  eyes. 

"Let  us  be  doing  something,  gentlemen,"  suggested 
the  Doctor.  Martyanoff  made  an  awful  grimace,  and 
suddenly  sneezed  on  Petunikoff's  head.  The  latter  gave 
a  yell,  sat  down  hurriedly,  and  then  jumped  aside,  al- 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN       99 

most  knocking  down  the  Inspector,  into  whose  open 
arms  he  fell. 

"Do  you  see,"  said  the  frightened  merchant,  point- 
ing to  Martyanoff,  "do  you  see  what  kind  of  men  they 
are." 

Kuvalda  burst  out  laughing.  The  Doctor  and  the 
Coroner  smiled  too,  and  at  the  door  of  the  dosshouse 
the  group  of  figures  was  increasing  .  .  .  sleepy  figures, 
with  swollen  faces,  red,  inflamed  eyes,  and  dishevelled 
hair,  staring  rudely  at  the  Doctor,  the  Coroner,  and  the 
Inspector. 

"Where  are  you  going  ?"  said  the  policeman  on  guard 
at  the  door,  catching  hold  of  their  tatters  and  pushing 
them  aside.  But  he  was  one  against  many,  and,  with- 
out taking  any  notice,  they  all  entered  and  stood  there, 
reeking  of  vodki,  silent  and  evil-looking. 

Kuvalda  glanced  at  them,  then  at  the  authorities,  who 
were  angry  at  the  intrusion  of  these  ragamuffins,  and 
said,  smilingly,  "Gentlemen,  perhaps  you  would  like 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  my  lodgers  and  friends? 
Would  you?  But,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not,  you  will 
have  to  make  their  acquaintance  sooner  or  later  in  the 
course  of  your  duties." 

The  Doctor  smiled  in  an  embarrassed  way.  The  Cor- 
oner pressed  his  lips  together,  and  the  Inspector  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  go.    Therefore,  he  shouted : 

"Sideroff !    Whistle  !    Tell  them  to  bring  a  cart  here." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Petunikoff,  coming  forward  from  a 
corner.  "You  had  better  take  it  away  to-day,  sir,  I 
want  to  pull  down  this  hole.  Go  away !  or  else  I  shall 
apply  to  the  police  !" 


100  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

The  policeman's  whistle  echoed  through  the  court- 
yard. At  the  door  of  the  dosshouse  its  inhabitants  stood 
in  a  group,  yawning,  and  scratching  themselves. 

"And  so  you  do  not  wish  to  be  introduced?  That  is 
rude  of  you !"  laughed  Aristid  Fomich. 

Petunikoff  took  his  purse  from  his  pocket,  took  out 
two  five-kopeck  pieces,  put  them  at  the  feet  of  the  dead 
man,  and  crossed  himself. 

"God  have  mercy  ...  on  the  burial  of  the  sin- 
ful .    .    ." 

"What !"  yelled  the  Captain,  "you  give  for  the  burial  ? 
Take  them  away,  I  say,  you  scoundrel !  How  dare  you 
give  your  stolen  kopecks  for  the  burial  of  an  honest 
man  ?    I  will  tear  you  limb  from  limb  !" 

"Your  Honor!"  cried  the  terrified  merchant  to  the 
Inspector,  seizing  him  by  the  elbow. 

The  Doctor  and  the  Coroner  jumped  aside.  The 
Inspector  shouted: 

"SiderofE,  come  here!" 

"The  creatures  that  once  were  men"  stood  along  the 
wall,  looking  and  listening  with  an  interest,  which  put 
new  life  into  their  broken-down  bodies. 

Kuvalda,  shaking  his  fist  at  Petunikoff's  head,  roared 
and  rolled  his  eyes  like  a  wild  beast. 

"Scoundrel  and  thief!  Take  back  your  money! 
Dirty  worm !  Take  it  back,  I  say  .  .  .or  else  I  shall 
cram  it  down  your  throat.  .  .  .  Take  your  five-kopeck 
pieces !" 

Petunikoff  put  out  his  trembling  hand  toward  his 
mite,  and  protecting  his  head  from  Kuvalda's  fist  with 
the  other  hand,  said : 


CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN  101 

"You  are  my  witnesses,  Sir  Inspector,  and  you  good 
people  I" 

"We  are  not  good  people,  merchant !"  said  the  voice  of 
Abyedok,  trembling  with  anger. 

The  Inspector  whistled  impatiently,  with  his  other 
hand  protecting  PetunikofP,  who  was  stooping  in  front 
of  him  as  if  trying  to  enter  his  belly. 

'TTou  dirty  toad !  I  shall  compel  you  to  kiss  the  feet 
of  the  dead  man.  How  would  you  like  that?'*  And 
catching  Petunikoff  by  the  neck,  Kuvalda  hurled  him 
against  the  door,  as  if  he  had  been  a  cat. 

The  "creatures  that  once  were  men"  sprang  aside 
quickly  to  let  the  merchant  fall.  And  down  he  fell  at 
their  feet,  crying  wildly : 

"Murder !     Help  !     Murder !" 

Martyanoff  slowly  raised  his  foot,  and  brought  it  down 
heavily  on  the  merchant's  head.  Abyedok  spat  in  his 
face  with  a  grin.  The  merchant,  creeping  on  all-fours, 
threw  himself  into  the  courtyard,  at  which  everyone 
laughed.  But  by  this  time  the  two  policemen  had  ar- 
rived, and  pointing  to  Kuvalda,  the  Inspector  said, 
pompously : 

"Arrest  him,  and  bind  him  hand  and  foot !" 

"You  dare  not!  ...  I  shall  not  run  away  ...  I 
will  go  wherever  you  wish,  ..."  said  Kuvalda,  freeing 
himself  from  the  policemen  at  his  side. 

The  "creatures  that  once  were  men"  disappeared  one 
after  the  other.  A  cart  entered  the  yard.  Some  ragged 
wretches  brought  out  the  dead  man's  body. 

"I'll  teach  you !  You  just  wait !"  thundered  the  In- 
spector at  Kuvalda. 


102     CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"How  now,  ataman?"  asked  Petunikoff  maliciously, 
excited  and  pleased  at  the  sight  of  his  enemy  in  bonds. 
"What,  you  fell  into  the  trap?  Eh?  You  just 
wait  ..." 

But  Kuvalda  was  quiet  now.  He  stood  strangely 
straight  and  silent  between  the  two  policemen,  watch- 
ing the  teacher's  body  being  placed  in  the  cart.  The 
man  who  was  holding  the  head  of  the  corpse  was  very 
short,  and  could  not  manage  to  place  it  on  the  cart  at 
the  same  time  as  the  legs.  For  a  moment  the  body 
hung  as  if  it  would  fall  to  the  ground,  and  hide  itself 
beneath  the  earth,  away  from  these  foolish  and  wicked 
disturbers  of  its  peace. 

"Take  him  away!"  ordered  the  Inspector,  pointing 
to  the  Captain. 

Kuvalda  silently  moved  forward  without  protesta- 
tion, passing  the  cart  on  which  was  the  teacher's  body. 
He  bowed  his  head  before  it  without  looking.  Martya- 
noff,  with  his  strong  face,  followed  him.  The  court- 
yard of  the  merchant  Petunikoff  emptied  quickly. 

"Now  then,  go  on !"  called  the  driver,  striking  the 
horses  with  the  whip.  The  cart  moved  off  over  the 
rough  surface  of  the  courtyard.  The  teacher  was  cov- 
ered with  a  heap  of  rags,  and  his  belly  projected  from 
beneath  them.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  laughing  quietly 
at  the  prospect  of  leaving  the  dosshouse,  never,  never 
to  return.  Petunikoff,  who  was  following  him  with  his 
eyes,  crossed  himself,  and  then  began  to  shake  the  dust 
and  rubbish  off  his  clothes,  and  the  more  he  shook  him- 
self the  more  pleased  and  self-satisfied  did  he  feel.  He 
saw  the  tall  figure  of  Aristid  Fomich  Kuvalda,  in  a 


CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN  103 

gray  cap  with  a  red  band,  with  his  arms  bound  behind 
his  back,  being  led  away. 

Petunikoif  smiled  the  smile  of  the  conqueror,  and 
went  back  into  the  dosshouse,  but  suddenly  he  stopped 
and  trembled.  At  the  door  facing  him  stood  an  old 
man  with  a  stick  in  his  hand  and  a  large  bag  on  his 
back,  a  horrible  old  man  in  rags  and  tatters,  which  cov- 
ered his  bony  figure.  He  bent  under  the  weight  of  his 
burden,  and  lowered  his  head  on  his  breast,  as  if  he 
wished  to  attack  the  merchant. 

'^hat  are  you?  Who  are  you?"  shouted  Petuni- 
koff. 

"A  man  .  .  . "  he  answered  in  a  hoarse  voice.  This 
hoarseness  pleased  and  tranquillized  Petunikoff,  he  even 
smiled. 

"A  man !  And  are  there  really  men  like  you  ?"  Step- 
ping aside  he  let  the  old  man  pass.  He  went,  saying 
slowly : 

"Men  are  of  various  kinds  ...  as  God  wills.  .  .  . 
There  are  worse  than  me  .  .  .  still  worse  .  .  . 
Yes  .   .   ." 

The  cloudy  sky  hung  silently  over  the  dirty  yard  and 
over  the  cleanly-dressed  man  with  the  pointed  beard, 
who  was  walking  about  there,  measuring  distances  with 
his  steps  and  with  his  sharp  eyes.  On  the  roof  of  the 
old  house  a  crow  perched  and  croaked,  thrusting  its 
head  now  backward,  now  forward.  In  the  lowering 
gray  clouds,  which  hid  the  sky,  there  was  something  hard 
and  merciless,  as  if  they  had  gathered  together  to  wash 
all  the  dirt  off  the  face  of  this  unfortunate,  suffering, 
and  sorrowful  earth. 


TWENTY-SIX    MEN    AND    A    GIRL 

There  were  six-and-twenty  of  us — aix-and-twenty 
living  machines  in  a  damp,  underground  cellar,  where 
from  morning  till  night  we  kneaded  dough  and  rolled 
it  into  kringels.  Opposite  the  underground  window  of 
our  cellar  was  a  bricked  area,  green  and  mouldy  with 
moisture.  The  window  was  protected  from  outside  with 
a  close  iron  grating,  and  the  light  of  the  sun  could  not 
pierce  through  the  window  panes,  covered  as  they  were 
with  flour  dust. 

Our  employer  had  bars  placed  in  front  of  the 
windows,  so  that  we  should  not  be  able  to  give  a  bit  of 
his  bread  to  passing  beggars,  or  to  any  of  our  fellows 
who  were  out  of  work  and  hungry.  Our  employer 
called  us  rogues,  and  gave  us  haK-rotten  tripe  to  eat 
for  our  mid-day  meal,  instead  of  meat.  It  was  swelter- 
ingly  close  for  us  cooped  up  in  that  stone  underground 
chamber,  under  the  low,  heavy,  soot-blackened,  cob- 
webby ceiling.  Dreary  and  sickening  was  our  life  be- 
tween its  thick,  dirty,  mouldy  walls. 

Unref reshed,  and  with  a  feeling  of  not  having  had  our 
sleep  out,  we  used  to  get  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing; and  before  slx,  we  were  already  seated,  worn  out 
and  apathetic,  at  the  table,  rolling  out  the  dough  which 

104 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIEL        105 

our  mates  had  already  prepared  while  we  slept.  The 
whole  day,  from  ten  in  the  early  morning  until  ten  at 
night,  some  of  ns  sat  round  that  table,  working  up  in 
our  hands  the  yielding  paste,  rolling  it  to  and  fro  so 
that  it  should  not  get  stiff;  while  the  others  kneaded 
the  swelling  mass  of  dough.  And  the  whole  day  the 
simmering  water  in  the  kettle,  where  the  kringels  were 
being  cooked,  sang  low  and  sadly ;  and  the  baker's  shovel 
scraped  harshly  over  the  oven  floor,  as  he  threw  the 
slippery  bits  of  dough  out  of  the  kettle  on  the  heated 
bricks. 

From  morning  till  evening  wood  was  burning  in  the 
oven,  and  the  red  glow  of  the  fire  gleamed  and  flick- 
ered over  the  walls  of  the  bake-shop,  as  if  silently 
mocking  us.  The  giant  oven  was  like  the  misshapen 
head  of  a  monster  in  a  fairy  tale;  it  thrust  itself  up 
out  of  the  floor,  opened  wide  jaws,  full  of  glowing  fire, 
and  blew  hot  breath  upon  us;  it  seemed  to  be  ever 
watching  out  of  its  black  air-holes  our  interminable 
work.  Those  two  deep  holes  were  like  eyes — the  cold, 
pitiless  eyes  of  a  monster.  They  watched  us  always 
with  the  same  darkened  glance,  as  if  they  were  weary 
of  seeing  before  them  such  eternal  slaves,  from  whom 
they  could  expect  nothing  human,  and  therefore  scorned 
them  with  the  cold  scorn  of  wisdom. 

In  meal  dust,  in  the  mud  which  we  brought  in  from 
the  yard  on  our  boots,  in  the  hot,  sticky  atmosphere, 
day  in,  day  out,  we  rolled  the  dough  into  kringels, 
which  we  moistened  with  our  own  sweat.  And  we  hated 
our  work  with  a  glowing  hatred ;  we  never  ate  what  had 
passed  through  our  hands,  and  preferred  black  bread  to 


106  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

kringels.  Sitting  opposite  each  other,  at  a  long  table — 
nine  facing  nine — we  moved  our  hands  and  fingers  me- 
chanically during  endlessly  long  hours,  till  we  were  so 
accustomed  to  our  monotonous  work  that  we  ceased  to 
pay  any  attention  to  it. 

We  had  all  studied  each  other  so  constantly,  that  each 
of  us  knew  every  wrinkle  of  his  mates*  faces.  It  was 
not  long  also  before  we  had  exhausted  almost  every 
topic  of  conversation;  that  is  why  we  were  most  of  the 
time  silent,  unless  we  were  chaffing  each  other ;  but  one 
cannot  always  find  something  abowt  which  to  chaff  an- 
other man,  especially  when  that  man  is  one's  mate. 
Neither  were  we  much  given  to  finding  fault  with  one 
another;  how,  indeed,  could  one  of  us  poor  devils  be  in 
a  position  to  find  fault  with  another,  when  we  were  all 
of  us  half  dead  and,  as  it  were,  turned  to  stone?  For 
the  heavy  drudgery  seemed  to  crush  all  feeling  out  of 
us.  But  silence  is  only  terrible  and  fearful  for  those 
who  have  said  everything  and  have  nothing  more  to  say 
to  each  other ;  for  men,  on  the  contrary,  who  have  never 
begun  to  communicate  with  one  another,  it  is  easy  and 
simple. 

Sometimes,  too,  we  sang ;  and  this  is  how  it  happened 
that  we  began  to  sing:  one  of  us  would  sigh  deeply 
in  the  midst  of  our  toil,  like  an  overdriven  horse,  and 
then  we  would  begin  one  of  those  songs  whose  gentle 
swaying  melody  seems  always  to  ease  the  burden  on 
the  singer's  heart. 

At  first  one  sang  by  himself,  and  we  others  sat  in 
silence  listening  to  his  solitary  song,  which,  under  the 
heavy  vaulted  roof  of  the  cellar,  died  gradually  away. 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIRL         107 

and  became  extinguished,  like  a  little  fire  in  the  steppes, 
on  a  wet  autumn  night,  when  the  gray  heaven  hangs 
like  a  heavy  mass  over  the  earth.  Then  another  would 
join  in  with  the  singer,  and  now  two  soft,  sad  voices 
would  break  into  song  in  our  narrow,  dull  hole  of  a 
cellar.  Suddenly  others  would  join  in,  and  the  song 
would  roll  forward  like  a  wave,  would  grow  louder 
and  swell  upward,  till  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
damp,  foul  walls  of  our  stone  prison  were  widen- 
ing out  and  opening.  Then,  all  six-and-twenty  of 
us  would  be  singing;  our  loud,  harmonious  song  would 
fill  the  whole  cellar,  our  voices  would  travel  outside 
and  beyond,  striking,  as  it  were,  against  the  walls  in 
moaning  sobs  and  sighs,  moving  our  hearts  with  soft, 
tantalizing  ache,  tearing  open  old  wounds,  and  awaken- 
ing longings. 

The  singers  would  sigh  deeply  and  heavily;  suddenly 
one  would  become  silent  and  listen  to  the  others  singing, 
then  let  his  voice  flow  once  more  in  the  common  tide. 
Another  would  exclaim  in  a  stifled  voice,  "Ah !"  and 
would  shut  his  eyes,  while  the  deep,  full  soimd  waves 
would  show  him,  as  it  were,  a  road,  in  front  of  him — a 
sunlit,  broad  road  in  the  distance,  which  he  himself, 
in  thought,  wandered  along. 

But  the  flame  flickers  once  more  in  the  huge  oven,  the 
baker  scrapes  incessantly  with  his  shovel,  the  water  sim- 
mers in  the  kettle,  and  the  flicker  of  the  fire  on  the 
wall  dances  as  before  in  silent  mockery.  While  in  other 
men's  words  we  sing  out  our  dumb  grief,  the  weary  bur- 
den of  Hve  men  robbed  of  the  sunlight,  the  burden  of 
slaves. 


108  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

So  we  lived,  we  six-and-twenty,  in  the  vault-like  cellar 
of  a  great  stone  house,  and  we  suffered  each  one  of  us, 
as  if  we  had  to  bear  on  our  shoulders  the  whole  three 
storys  of  that  house. 

But  we  had  something  else  good,  besides  the  singing 
— something  we  loved,  that  perhaps  took  the  place  of 
the  sunshine. 

In  the  second  story  of  our  house  there  was  estab- 
lished a  gold-embroiderer's  shop,  and  there,  living 
among  the  other  embroidery  girls,  was  Tanya,  a  little 
maid-servant  of  sixteen.  Every  morning  there  peeped 
in  through  the  glass  door  a  rosy  little  face,  with  merry 
blue  eyes;  while  a  ringing,  tender  voice  called  out 
to  us: 

"Little  prisoners !  Have  you  any  kringels,  please, 
for  me?" 

At  that  clear  sound,  we  knew  so  well,  we  all  used  to 
turn  round,  gazing  with  simple-hearted  joy  at  the  pure 
girlish  face  which  smiled  at  us  so  sweetly.  The  sight 
of  the  small  nose  pressed  against  the  window-pane,  and 
of  the  white  teeth  gleaming  between  the  half-open  lips, 
had  become  for  us  a  daily  pleasure.  Tumbling  over 
each  other  we  used  to  jump  up  to  open  the  door,  and 
she  would  step  in,  bright  and  cheerful,  holding  out  her 
apron,  with  her  head  thrown  on  one  side,  and  a  smile 
on  her  lips.  Her  thick,  long  chestnut  hair  fell  over  her 
shoulder  and  across  her  breast.  But  we,  ugly,  dirty  and 
misshapen  as  we  were,  looked  up  at  her — the  threshold 
door  was  four  steps  above  the  floor — looked  up  at  her 
with  heads  thrown  back,  wishing  her  good-morning,  and 
speaking  strange,  unaccustomed  words,  which  we  kept 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN"  AND  A  GIRL        109 

for  her  only.  Our  voices  became  softer  when  we  spoke 
to  her,  our  jests  were  lighter.  For  her — everything  was 
different  with  us.  The  baker  took  from  his  oven  a 
shovel  of  the  best  and  the  brownest  kringels,  and  threw 
them  deftly  into  Tanya's  apron. 

"Be  off  with  you  now,  or  the  boss  will  catch  you !"  we 
warned  her  each  time.  She  laughed  roguishly,  called  out 
cheerfully:  "Good-bye,  poor  prisoners!"  and  slipped 
away  as  quick  as  a  mouse. 

That  was  aU.  But  long  after  she  had  gone  we  talked 
about  her  to  one  another  with  pleasure.  It  was  always 
the  same  thing  as  we  had  said  yesterday  and  the  day 
before,  because  everything  about  us,  including  ourselves 
and  her,  remained  the  same — as  yesterday — and  as 
always. 

Painful  and  terrible  it  is  when  a  man  goes  on  living, 
while  nothing  changes  around  him;  and  when  such  an 
existence  does  not  finally  kill  his  soul,  then  the  monot- 
ony becomes  with  time,  even  more  and  more  painful. 
Generally  we  spoke  about  women  in  such  a  way,  that 
sometimes  it  was  loathsome  to  us  ourselves  to  hear  our 
rude,  shameless  talk.  The  women  whom  we  knew  de- 
served perhaps  nothing  better.  But  about  Tanya  we 
never  let  fall  an  evil  word;  none  of  us  ever  ventured 
so  much  as  to  lay  a  hand  on  her,  even  too  free  a  jest 
she  never  heard  from  us.  Maybe  this  was  so  because 
she  never  remained  for  long  with  us ;  she  flashed  on  our 
eyes  like  a  star  falling  from  the  sky,  and  vanished ;  and 
maybe  because  she  was  little  and  very  beautiful,  and 
everything  beautiful  calls  forth  respect,  even  in  coarse 
people.    And  besides — though  our  life  of  penal  labor  had 


110  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

made  us  dull  beasts,  oxen,  we  were  still  men,  and,  like 
all  men,  could  not  live  without  worshipping  something 
or  other.  Better  than  her  we  had  none,  and  none  but 
her  took  any  notice  of  us,  living  in  the  cellar — no  one, 
though  there  were  dozens  of  people  in  the  house.  And 
then,  too — most  likely,  this  was  the  chief  thing — we  all 
regarded  her  as  something  of  our  own,  something  exist- 
ing as  it  were  only  by  virtue  of  our  kringels.  We  took 
on  ourselves  in  turns  the  duty  of  providing  her  with  hot 
kringels,  and  this  became  for  us  like  a  daily  sacrifice  to 
our  idol,  it  became  almost  a  sacred  rite,  and  every  day 
it  bound  us  more  closely  to  her.  Besides  kringels,  we 
gave  Tanya  a  great  deal  of  advice — to  wear  warmer 
clothes,  not  toi  rim  upstairs  too  quickly,  not  to  carry 
heavy  bundles  of  wood.  She  listened  to  all  our  counsels 
with  a  smile,  answered  them  by  a  laugh,  and  never  took 
our  advice,  but  we  were  not  offended  at  that;  all  we 
wanted  was  to  show  how  much  care  we  bestowed  upon 
her. 

Often  she  would  apply  to  us  with  different  requests, 
she  asked  us,  for  instance,  to  open  the  heavy  door  into 
the  store-cellar,  and  to  chop  wood:  with  delight  and 
a  sort  of  pride,  we  did  this  for  her,  and  everything  else 
she  wanted. 

But  when  one  of  us  asked  her  to  mend  his  solitary 
shirt  for  him,  she  said,  with  a  laugh  of  contempt: 

"What  next !     A  likely  idea !" 

We  made  great  fun  of  the  queer  fellow  who  could 
entertain  such  an  idea,  and — never  asked  her  to  do  any- 
thing else.  We  loved  her — all  is  said  in  that.  Man 
always  wants  to  lay  his  love  on  someone,  though  some- 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIRL        111 

times  he  crushes,  sometimes  he  sullies,  with  it;  he  may 
poison  another  life  because  he  loves  without  respecting 
the  beloved.  We  were  bound  to  love  Tanya,  for  we  had 
no  one  else  to  love. 

At  times  one  of  us  would  suddenly  begin  to  reason 
like  this: 

"And  why  do  we  make  so  much  of  the  wench  ?  What 
is  there  in  her  ?  eh  ?    What  a  to-do  we  make  about  her !" 

The  man  who  dared  to  utter  such  words  we  promptly 
and  coarsely  cut  short — we  wanted  something  to  love: 
we  had  found  it  and  loved  it,  and  what  we  twenty-six 
loved  must  be  for  each  of  us  unalterable,  as  a  holy 
thing,  and  anyone  who  acted  against  us  in  this  was  our 
enemy.  We  loved,  maybe,  not  what  was  really  good,  but 
you  see  there  were  twenty-six  of  us,  and  so  we  always 
wanted  to  see  what  was  precious  to  us  held  sacred  by 
the  rest. 

Our  love  is  not  less  burdensome  than  hate,  and  maybe 
that  is  just  why  some  proud  souls  maintain  that  our  hate 
is  more  flattering  than  our  love.  But  why  do  they  not 
ran  away  from  us,  if  it  is  so? 

H:  *  *  *  * 

Besides  our  department,  our  employer  had  also  a 
bread-bakery ;  it  was  in  the  same  house,  separated  from 
our  hole  only  by  a  wall ;  but  the  bakers — there  were  four 
of  them — held  aloof  from  us,  considering  their  work 
superior  to  ours,  and  therefore  themselves  better  than 
us;  they  never  used  to  come  into  our  workroom,  and 
laughed  contemptuously  at  us  when  they  met  us  in  the 
yard.  We,  too,  did  not  go  to  see  them ;  this  was  forbid- 
den by  our  employer,  from  fear  that  we  should  steal 


112  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

the  fancy  bread.  We  did  not  like  the  bakers,  because 
we  envied  them ;  their  work  was  lighter  than  ours,  they 
were  paid  more,  and  were  better  fed;  they  had  a  light, 
spacious  workroom,  and  they  were  all  so  clean  and 
healthy — and  that  made  them  hateful  to  us.  We  all 
looked  gray  and  yellow ;  three  of  us  had  syphilis,  several 
suffered  from  skin  diseases,  one  was  completely  crippled 
by  rheumatism.  On  holidays  and  in  their  leisure  time 
the  bakers  wore  pea-jackets  and  creaking  boots,  two  of 
them  had  accordions,  and  they  all  used  to  go  for  strolls 
in  the  town  gardens — we  wore  filthy  rags  and  leather 
clogs  or  plaited  shoes  on  our  feet,  the  police  would  not 
let  us  into  the  town  gardens — could  we  possibly  like  the 
bakers  ? 

And  one  day  we  learned  that  their  chief  baker  had 
been  drunk,  the  master  had  sacked  him  and  had  already 
taken  on  another,  and  that  this  other  was  a  soldier,  wore 
a  satin  waistcoat  and  a  watch  and  gold  chain.  We  were 
inquisitive  to  get  a  sight  of  such  a  dandy,  and  in  the 
hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  him  we  kept  running  one 
aft«r  another  out  into  the  yard. 

But  he  came  of  his  own  accord  into  our  room.  Kick- 
ing at  the  door,  he  pushed  it  open,  and  leaving  it  ajar, 
stood  in  the  doorway  smiling,  and  said  to  us : 

"God  help  the  work  !    Good-morning,  mates  !" 

The  ice-cold  air,  which  streamed  in  through  the  open 
door,  curled  in  streaks  of  vapor  round  his  feet.  He 
stood  on  the  threshold,  looked  us  up  and  down,  and 
under  his  fair,  twisted  mustache  gleamed  big  yellow 
teeth.  His  waistcoat  was  really  something  quite  out 
of  the  common,  blue-flowered,  brilliant  with  shining 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIRL         113 

little  buttons  of  red  stones.  He  also  wore  a  watch 
chain. 

He  was  a  fine  fellow,  this  soldier;  tall,  healthy,  rosy- 
cheeked,  and  his  big,  clear  eyes  had  a  friendly,  cheerful 
glance.  He  wore  on  his  head  a  white  starched  cap,  and 
from  under  his  spotlessly  clean  apron  peeped  the  pointed 
toes  of  fashionable,  well-blacked  boots. 

Our  baker  asked  him  politely  to  shut  the  door.  The 
soldier  did  so  without  hurrying  himself,  and  began  to 
question  us  about  the  master.  We  explained  to  him,  all 
speaking  together,  that  our  employer  was  a  thorough- 
going brute,  a  rogue,  a  knave,  and  a  slave-driver;  in  a 
word,  we  repeated  to  him  all  that  can  and  must  be  said 
about  an  employer,  but  cannot  be  repeated  here.  The 
soldier  listened  to  us,  twisted  his  mustache,  and  watched 
us  with  a  friendly,  open-hearted  look. 

"But  haven't  you  got  a  lot  of  girls  here?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

Some  of  us  began  to  laugh  deferentially,  others  put 
on  a  meaning  expression,  and  one  of  us  explained  to  the 
soldier  that  there  were  nine  girls  here. 

"You  make  the  most  of  them?"  asked  the  soldier, 
with  a  wink. 

We  laughed,  but  not  so  loudly,  and  with  some  em- 
barrassment. Many  of  us  would  have  liked  to  have 
shown  the  soldier  that  we  also  were  tremendous  fellows 
with  the  girls,  but  not  one  of  us  could  do  so ;  and  one  of 
our  number  confessed  as  much,  when  he  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"That  sort  of  thing  is  not  in  our  line." 

''Well,  no ;  it  wouldn't  quite  do  for  you,"  said  the  sol' 


114  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

dier  with  conviction,  after  having  looked  us  over. 
"There  is  something  wanting  about  you  all.  You  don't 
look  the  right  sort.  You've  no  sort  of  appea-rance ;  and 
the  women,  you  see,  they  like  a  bold  appearance,  they 
will  have  a  well  set-up  body.  Everything  has  to  be  tip- 
top for  them.  That's  why  they  respect  strength.  They 
want  an  arm  like  that!" 

The  soldier  drew  his  right  hand,  with  its  turned-up 
shirt  sleeve,  out  of  his  pocket,  and  showed  us  his  bare 
arm.  It  was  white  and  strong,  and  covered  with  shin- 
ing yellow  hairs. 

"Leg  and  chest,  all  must  be  strong.  And  then  a  man 
must  be  dressed  in  the  latest  fashion,  so  as  to  show  ofE 
his  looks  to  advantage.  Yes,  all  the  women  take  to  me. 
Whether  I  call  to  them,  or  whether  I  beckon  them,  they 
with  one  accord,  five  at  a  time,  throw  themselves  at  my 
head." 

He  sat  down  on  a  flour  sack,  and  told  at  length  all 
about  the  way  women  loved  him,  and  how  bold  he  was 
with  them.  Then  he  left,  and  after  the  door  had  creaked 
to  behind  him,  we  sat  for  a  long  time  silent,  and  thought 
about  him  and  his  talk.  Then  we  all  suddenly  broke 
silence  together,  and  it  became  apparent  that  we  were 
all  equally  pleased  with  him.  He  was  such  a  nice,  open- 
hearted  fellow;  he  came  to  see  us  without  any  stand- 
offishness,  sat  down  and  chatted.  No  one  else  came  to 
us  like  that,  and  no  one  else  talked  to  us  in  that  friendly 
sort  of  way.  And  we  continued  to  talk  of  him  and  his 
coming  triumph  among  the  embroidery  girls,  who  passed 
us  by  with  contemptuous  sniffs  when  they  saw  us  in 
the  yard,  or  who  looked  straight  through  us  as  if  we 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIRL        115 

had  been  air.  But  we  admired  them  always  when  we 
met  them  outside,  or  when  they  walked  past  our 
windows;  in  winter,  in  fur  jackets  and  toques  to  match; 
in  summer,  in  hats  trimmed  with  flowers,  and  with  col- 
ored parasols  in  their  hands.  We  talked,  however,  about 
these  girls  in  a  way  that  would  have  made  them  mad 
with  shame  and  rage,  if  they  could  have  heard  us. 

"If  only  he  does  not  get  hold  of  little  Tanya !"  said 
the  baker,  suddenly,  in  an  anxious  tone  of  voice. 

We  were  silent,  for  these  words  troubled  us.  Tanya 
had  quite  gone  out  of  our  minds,  supplanted,  put  on 
one  side  by  the  strong,  fine  figure  of  the  soldier. 

Then  began  a  lively  discussion;  some  of  us  main- 
tained that  Tanya  would  never  lower  herself  so;  others 
thought  she  would  not  be  able  to  resist  him,  and  the 
third  group  proposed  to  give  him  a  thrashing  if  he 
should  try  to  annoy  Tanya.  And,  finally,  we  all  decided 
to  watch  the  soldier  and  Tanya,  and  to  warn  the  girl 
against  him.    This  brought  the  discussion  to  an  end. 

Four  weeks  had  passed  by  since  then;  during  this 
time  the  soldier  baked  white  bread,  walked  about  with 
the  gold-embroidery  girls,  visited  us  often,  but  did  not 
talk  any  more  about  his  conquests;  only  twisted  his 
mustache,  and  licked  his  lips  lasciviously. 

Tanya  called  in  as  usual  every  morning  for  "little 
kringels,"  and  was  as  gay  and  as  nice  and  friendly  with 
us  as  ever.  We  certainly  tried  once  or  twice  to  talk  to 
her  about  the  soldier,  but  she  called  him  a  "goggle-eyed 
calf,"  and  made  fun  of  him  all  round,  and  that  set  our 
minds  at  rest.  We  saw  how  the  gold-embroidery  girls 
carried  on  with  the  soldier,  and  we  were  proud  of  our 


116  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

girl;  Tanya's  behavior  reflected  honor  on  us  all;  we 
imitated  her,  and  began  in  our  talks  to  treat  the  soldier 
with  small  consideration.  She  became  dearer  to  us, 
and  we  greeted  her  with  more  friendliness  and  kindli- 
ness every  morning. 

One  day  the  soldier  came  to  see  us,  a  bit  drunk,  and 
sat  dovra  and  began  to  laugh.  When  we  asked  him 
what  he  was  laughing  about,  he  explained  to  us : 

"Why  two  of  them — that  Lydka  girl  and  Grushka — 
have  been  clawing  each  other  on  my  account.  You 
should  have  seen  the  way  they  went  for  each  other! 
Ha !  ha !  One  got  hold  of  the  other  one  by  the  hair, 
threw  her  down  on  the  floor  of  the  passage,  and  sat  on 
her !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  They  scratched  and  tore  each  others' 
faces.  It  was  enough  to  make  one  die  with  laughter! 
Why  is  it  women  can't  fight  fair  ?  Why  do  they  always 
scratch  one  another,  eh?" 

He  sat  on  the  bench,  healthy,  fresh  and  jolly;  he  sat 
there  and  went  on  laughing.  We  were  silent.  This 
time  he  made  an  unpleasant  impression  on  us. 

"Well,  it's  a  funny  thing  what  luck  I  have  with  the 
women-folk !  Eh  ?  I've  laughed  till  I'm  ill  1  One 
wink,  and  it's  all  over  with  them !     It's  the  d-devil  I" 

He  raised  his  white  hairy  hands,  and  slapped  them 
down  on  his  knees.  And  his  eyes  seem  to  reflect 
such  frank  astonishment,  as  if  he  were  himself  quite 
surprised  at  his  good  luck  with  women.  His  fat,  red 
face  glistened  with  delight  and  self  satisfaction,  and  he 
licked  his  lips  more  than  ever. 

Our  baker  scraped  the  shovel  violently  and  angrily 
along  the  oven  floor,  and  all  at  once  he  said  sarcastically : 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIKL         117 

"There's  no  great  strength  needed  to  pull  up  fir  sap- 
lings, but  try  a  real  pine-tree." 

"Why — what  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  to  me?" 
asked  the  soldier. 

"Oh,  well  ..." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Nothing — it  slipped  out !" 

"No,  wait  a  minute  !  What's  the  point  ?  Wliat  pine- 
tree?" 

Our  baker  did  not  answer,  working  rapidly  away  with 
the  shovel  at  the  oven;  flinging  into  it  the  half -cooked 
kringels,  taking  out  those  that  were  done,  and  noisily 
throwing  them  on  the  floor  to  the  boys  who  were  string- 
ing them  on  bast.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  sol- 
dier and  his  conversation  with  him.  But  the  soldier 
had  all  at  once  dropped  into  a  sort  of  uneasiness.  He 
got  up  on  to  his  feet,  and  went  to  the  oven,  at  the  risk, 
of  knocking  against  the  handle  of  the  shovel,  which  was 
waving  spasmodically  in  the  air. 

"No,  tell  me,  do — who  is  it  ?  You've  insulted  me.  I  ? 
There's  not  one  could  withstand  me,  n-no!  And  you 
say  such  insulting  things  to  me?" 

He  really  seemed  genuinely  hurt.  He  must  have  had 
nothing  else  to  pride  himself  on  except  his  gift  for  se- 
ducing women ;  maybe,  except  for  that,  there  was  noth- 
ing living  in  him,  and  it  was  only  that  by  which  he 
could  feel  himself  a  living  man. 

There  are  men  to  whom  the  most  precious  and  best 
thing  in  their  lives  appears  to  be  some  disease  of  their 
soul  or  body.  They  spend  their  whole  life  in  relation 
to  it,  and  only  living  by  it,  suffering  from  it,  they  sus- 


118     CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

tain  themselves  on  it,  they  complain  of  it  to  others,  and 
so  draw  the  attention  of  their  fellows  to  themselves. 
For  that  they  extract  sympathy  from  people,  and  apart 
from  it  they  have  nothing  at  all.  Take  from  them  that 
disease,  cure  them,  and  they  will  be  miserable,  because 
they  have  lost  their  one  resource  in  life — they  are  left 
empty  then.  Sometimes  a  man's  life  is  so  poor,  that  he 
is  driven  instinctively  to  prize  his  vice  and  to  live  by 
it;  one  may  say  for  a  fact  that  often  men  are  vicious 
from  boredom. 

The  soldier  was  offended,  he  went  up  to  our  baker 
and  roared : 

"No,  tell  me  do— who  ?" 

"Tell  you?"  the  baker  turned  suddenly  to  hin? 

"Well?" 

"You  know  Tanya?" 

"Well?" 

"Well,  there  then  !    Only  try." 

"I  ?" 

"You !" 

"Her  ?    W^hy  that's  nothing  to  me — pooh !" 

"We  shall  see !" 

"You  will  see!    Ha!  ha!" 

"She'll " 

"Give  me  a  month  !" 

"What  a  braggart  you  are,  soldier  1" 

"A  fortnight!  I'll  prove  it!  Who  is  it?  Tanya  1 
Pooh !" 

"Well,  get  out.    You're  in  my  way  !*' 

"A  fortnight — and  it's  done  !     Ah,  you " 

"Get  out,  I  say  I" 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIRL        119 

Our  baker,  all  at  once,  flew  into  a  rage  and  brandished 
his  shovel.  The  soldier  staggered  away  from  him  in 
amazement,  looked  at  us,  paused,  and  softly,  malig- 
nantly said,  "Oh,  all  right,  then !"  and  went  away. 

During  the  dispute  we  had  all  sat  silent,  absorbed  in 
it.  But  when  the  soldier  had  gone,  eager,  loud  talk 
and  noise  arose  among  us. 

Some  one  shouted  to  the  baker:  'T^t's  a  bad  job  that 
you've  started,  Pavel !" 

"Do  your  work !"  answered  the  baker  savagely. 

We  felt  that  the  soldier  had  been  deeply  aggrieved, 
and  that  danger  threatened  Tanya.  We  felt  this,  and 
at  the  same  time  we  were  all  possessed  by  a  burning 
curiosity,  most  agreeable  to  us.  What  would  happen? 
Would  Tanya  hold  out  against  the  soldier?  And  al- 
most all  cried  confidently :  "Tanya  ?  She'll  hold  out ! 
You  won't  catch  her  with  your  bare  arms !" 

We  longed  terribly  to  test  the  strength  of  our  idol; 
we  forcibly  proved  to  each  other  that  our  divinity  was 
a  strong  divinity  and  would  come  victorious  out  of  this 
ordeal.  We  began  at  last  to  fancy  that  we  had  not 
worked  enough  on  the  soldier,  that  he  would  forget  the 
dispute,  and  that  we  ought  to  pique  his  vanity  more 
keenly.  From  that  day  we  began  to  live  a  different  life, 
a  life  of  nervous  tension,  such  as  we  had  never  known 
before.  We  spent  whole  days  in  arguing  together;  we 
all  grew,  as  it  were,  sharper;  and  got  to  talk  more  and 
better.  It  seemed  to  us  that  we  were  playing  some  sort 
of  game  with  the  devil,  and  the  stake  on  our  side 
was  Tanya.  And  when  we  learned  from  the  bakers  that 
the  soldier  had  begun  "running  after  our  Tanya,"  we 


120  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

felt  a  sort  of  delighted  terror,  and  life  was  so  interest- 
ing that  we  did  not  even  notice  that  our  employer  had 
taken  advantage  of  our  pre-occupation  to  increase  our 
work  by  fourteen  pounds  of  dough  a  day.  We  seemed, 
indeed,  not  even  tired  by  our  work.  Tanya's  name  was 
on  our  lips  all  day  long.  And  every  day  we  looked  for 
her  with  a  certain  special  impatience.  Sometimes  we 
pictured  to  ourselves  that  she  would  come  to  us,  and  it 
would  not  be  the  same  Tanya  as  of  old,  but  somehow 
different.  We  said  nothing  to  her,  however,  of  the  dis- 
pute regarding  her.  We  asked  her  no  questions,  and  be- 
haved as  well  and  affectionately  to  her  as  ever.  But 
even  in  this  a  new  element  crept  in,  alien  to  our  old 
feeling  for  Tanya — and  that  new  element  was  keen  curi- 
osity, keen  and  cold  as  a  steel  knife. 

"Mates !  To-day  the  time's  up  !"  our  baker  said  to  us 
one  morning,  as  he  set  to  work. 

We  were  well  aware  of  it  without  his  reminder;  but 
still  we  were  thrilled. 

"Look  at  her.  She'll  be  here  directly,"  suggested  the 
baker. 

One  of  us  cried  out  in  a  troubled  voice,  "Why!  as 
though  one  could  notice  anytliing !" 

And  again  an  eager,  noisy  discussion  sprang  up  among 
us.  To-day  we  were  about  to  prove  how  pure  and  spot- 
less was  the  vessel  into  which  we  had  poured  all  that 
was  best  in  us.  This  morning,  for  the  first  time,  it  be- 
came clear  to  us,  that  we  really  were  playing  a  great 
game;  that  we  might,  indeed,  through  the  exaction  of 
this  proof  of  purity,  lose  our  divinity  altogether. 

Durinor  the  whole  of  the  intervening  fortnight  we  had 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN  AND  A  GIEL         121 

heard  that  Tanya  was  persistently  followed  by  the  sol- 
dier, but  not  one  of  us  had  thought  of  asking  her  how 
she  had  behaved  toward  him.  And  she  came  every 
morning  to  fetch  her  kringels,  and  was  the  same  toward 
us  as  ever. 

This  morning,  too,  we  heard  her  voice  outside :  '^ou 
poor  prisoners !    Here  I  am  \" 

We  opened  the  door,  and  when  she  came  in  we  all 
remained,  contrary  to  our  usual  custom,  silent.  Our 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  we  did  not  know  how  to  speak  to  her, 
what  to  ask  her.  And  there  we  stood  in  front  of  her,  a 
gloomy,  silent  crowd.  She  seemed  to  be  surprised  at 
this  unusual  reception;  and  suddenly  we  saw  her  turn 
white  and  become  uneasy,  then  she  asked,  in  a  choking 
voice : 

*Why  are  you — like  this?" 

"And  you  ?"  the  baker  flung  at  her  grimly,  never  tak- 
ing his  eyes  off  her. 

"What  am  I  ?" 

"N— nothing." 

'^ell,  then,  give  me  quickly  the  little  kringels." 

Never  before  had  she  bidden  us  hurry. 

"There's  plenty  of  time,"  said  the  bake^*,  not  stirring, 
and  not  removing  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

Then,  suddenly,  she  turned  round  and  disappeared 
through  the  door. 

The  baker  took  his  shovel  and  said,  calmly  turning 
away  toward  the  oven : 

'^ell,  that  settles  it!  But  a  soldier!  a  common 
beast  like  that — a  low  cur!" 

Like  a  flock  of  sheep  we  all  pressed  round  the  table^ 


122  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

sat  down  silently,  and  began  listlessly  to  work.  Soon, 
however,  one  of  us  remarked: 

"Perhaps,  after  all " 

"Shut  up !"  shouted  the  baker. 

We  were  all  convinced  that  he  was  a  man  of  judgment, 
a  man  who  knew  more  than  we  did  about  things.  And 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice  we  were  convinced  of  the  sol- 
dier's victory,  and  our  spirits  became  sad  and  downcast. 

At  twelve  o'clock — while  we  were  eating  our  din- 
ners— the  soldier  came  in.  He  was  as  clean  and  as 
smart  as  ever,  and  looked  at  us — as  usual — straight  in 
the  eyes.    But  we  were  all  awkward  in  looking  at  him. 

"Now  then,  honored  sirs,  would  you  like  me  to  show 
you  a  soldier's  quality?"  he  said,  chuckling  proudly. 

"Go  out  into  the  passage,  and  look  through  the  crack 
— do  you  understand?" 

We  went  into  the  passage,  and  stood  all  pushing 
against  one  another,  squeezed  up  to  the  cracks  of  the 
wooden  partition  of  the  passage  that  looked  into  the 
yard.  We  had  not  to  wait  long.  Very  soon  Tanya,  with 
hurried  footsteps  and  a  careworn  face,  walked  across  the 
yard,  jumping  over  the  puddles  of  melting  snow  and 
mud:  she  disappeared  into  the  store  cellar.  Then 
whistling,  and  not  hurrying  himself,  the  soldier  fol- 
lowed in  the  same  direction.  His  hands  were  thrust  in 
his  pockets;  his  mustaches  were  quivering. 

Rain  was  falling,  and  we  saw  how  its  drops  fell  into 
the  puddles,  and  the  puddles  were  wrinkled  by  them. 
The  day  was  damp  and  gray — a  very  dreary  day.  Snow 
still  lay  on  the  roofs,  but  on  the  ground  dark  patches 
of  mud  had  begun  to  appear.     And  the  snow  on  the 


TWENTY-SIX  MEN"  AND  A  GIRL         123 

roofs  too  was  covered  by  a  layer  of  brownish  dirt.  The 
rain  fell  slowly  with  a  depressing  sound.  It  was  cold 
and  disagreeable  for  us  waiting. 

The  first  to  come  out  of  the  store  cellar  was  the  sol- 
dier; he  walked  slowly  across  the  yard,  his  mustaches 
twitching,  his  hands  in  his  pockets — the  same  as  always. 

Then — Tanya,  too,  came  out.  Her  eyes — her  eyes 
were  radiant  with  joy  and  happiness,  and  her  lips — 
were  smiling.  And  she  walked  as  though  in  a  dream, 
staggering,  with  unsteady  steps. 

We  could  not  bear  this  quietly.  All  of  us  at  once 
rushed  to  the  door,  dashed  out  into  the  yard  and — 
hissed  at  her,  reviled  her  viciously,  loudly,  wildly. 

She  started  at  seeing  us,  and  stood  as  though  rooted 
in  the  mud  under  her  feet.  We  formed  a  ring  round 
her!  and  malignantly,  without  restraint,  abused  her 
with  vile  words,  said  shameful  things  to  her. 

We  did  this  not  loudly,  not  hurriedly,  seeing  that  she 
could  not  get  away,  that  she  was  hemmed  in  by  us,  and 
we  could  deride  her  to  our  hearts'  content.  I  don't 
know  why,  but  we  did  not  beat  her.  She  stood  in  the 
midst  of  us,  and  turned  her  head  this  way  and  that,  as 
she  heard  our  insults.  And  we — more  and  more  vio- 
lently flung  at  her  the  filth  and  venom  of  our  words. 

The  color  had  left  her  face.  Her  blue  eyes,  so  happy 
a  moment  before,  opened  Avide,  her  bosom  heaved,  and 
her  lips  quivered. 

We  in  a  ring  round  her  avenged  ourselves  on  her  as 
though  she  had  robbed  us.  She  belonged  to  us,  we  had 
lavished  on  her  our  best,  and  though  that  best  was  a 
beggar's  crumb,  still  we  were  twenty-six,  she  was  one, 


124  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

and  so  there  was  no  pain  we  could  give  her  equal  to  her 
guilt !  How  we  insulted  her !  She  was  still  mute,  still 
gazed  at  us  with  wild  eyes,  and  a  shiver  ran  all  over 
her. 

We  laughed,  roared,  yelled.  Other  people  ran  up  from 
somewhere  and  joined  us.  One  of  us  pulled  Tanya  by 
the  sleeve  of  her  blouse. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  flashed;  deliberately  she  raised  her 
hands  to  her  head  and  straightening  her  hair  she  said 
loudly  but  calmly,  straight  in  our  faces: 

"Ah,  you  miserable  prisoners  !" 

And  she  walked  straight  at  us,  walked  as  directly 
as  though  we  had  no-t  been  before  her,  as  though  we 
were  not  blocking  her  way. 

And  hence  it  was  that  no  one  did  actually  prevent  her 
passing. 

Walking  out  of  our  ring,  without  turning  round,  sho 
said  loudly  and  with  indescribable  contempt: 

"Ah,  you  scum — brutes." 

And — was  gone. 

We  were  left  in  the  middle  of  the  yard,  in  the  rain, 
under  the  gray  sky  without  the  sun. 

Then  we  went  mutely  away  to  our  damp  stone  cellar. 
As  before — the  sun  never  peeped  in  at  our  windows,  and 
Tanya  came  no  more ! 


CHELKASH 

An  Episode 

Darkened  by  the  dust  of  the  dock,  the  blue  southern 
sky  is  murky;  the  burning  sun  looks  duskily  into  the 
greenish  sea,  as  though  through  a  thin  gray  veil.  It 
can  find  no  reflection  in  the  water,  continually  cut  up 
by  the  strokes  of  oars,  the  screws  of  steamers,  the  deep, 
sharp  keels  of  Turkish  feluccas  and  other  sailing  vessels, 
that  pass  in  all  directions,  ploughing  up  the  crowded 
harbor,  where  the  free  waves  of  the  sea,  pent  up  within 
granite  walls,  and  crushed  under  the  vast  weights  that 
glide  over  its  crests,  beat  upon  the  sides  of  the  ships  and 
on  the  bank;  beat  and  complain,  churned  up  into  foam 
and  fouled  with  all  sorts  of  refuse. 

The  jingle  of  the  anchor  chains,  the  rattle  of  the 
links  of  the  trucks  that  bring  down  the  cargoes,  the 
metallic  clank  of  sheets  of  iron  falling  on  the  stone 
pavement,  the  dull  thud  of  wood,  the  creaking  of  the 
carts  plying  for  hire,  the  whistles  of  the  steamers, 
piercingly  shrill  and  hoarsely  roaring,  the  shouts  of 
dock  laborers,  sailors,  and  customs  officers — all  these 
sounds  melt  into  the  deafening  symphony  of  the  work- 
ing day,  that  hovering  uncertainty  hangs  over  the  har- 
bor, as  though  afraid  to  float  upward  and  be  lost.    And 

125 


126       CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

fresh  waves  of  sound  continually  rise  up  from  the  earth 
to  join  it ;  deep,  grumbling,  sullen  reverberations  setting 
all  around  quaking;  shrill,  menacing  notes  that  pierce 
the  ear  and  the  dusty,  sultry  air. 

The  granite,  the  iron,  the  wood,  the  harbor  pavement, 
the  ships  and  the  men — all  swelled  the  mighty  strains 
of  this  frenzied,  impassioned  hymn  to  Mercury.  But 
the  voices  of  men,  scarcely  audible  in  it,  were  weak  and 
ludicrous.  And  the  men,  too,  themselves,  the  first 
source  of  all  that  uproar,  were  ludicrous  and  pitiable: 
their  little  figures,  dusty,  tattered,  nimble,  bent  under 
the  weight  of  goods  that  lay  on  their  backs,  under  the 
weight  of  cares  that  drove  them  hither  and  thither,  in 
the  clouds  of  dust,  in  the  sea  of  sweltering  heat  and  din, 
were  so  trivial  and  small  in  comparison  with  the  colos- 
sal iron  monsters,  the  mountains  of  bales,  the  thunder- 
ing railway  trucks  and  all  that  they  had  created.  Their 
own  creation  had  enslaved  them,  and  stolen  away  their 
individual  life. 

As  they  lay  letting  off  steam,  the  heavy  giant  steam- 
ers whistled  or  hissed,  or  seemed  to  heave  deep  sighs, 
and  in  every  sound  that  came  from  them  could  be 
heard  the  mocking  note  of  ironical  contempt  for  the 
gray,  dusty  shapes  of  men,  crawling  about  their  decks 
and  filling  their  deep  holds  with  the  fruits  of  their 
slavish  toil.  Ludicrous  and  pitiable  were  the  long 
strings  of  dock  laborers  bearing  on  their  backs  thousands 
of  tons  of  bread,  and  casting  it  into  the  iron  bellies  of 
the  ships  to  gain  a  few  pounds  of  that  same  bread  to 
fill  their  own  bellies — for  their  worse  luck  not  made  of 
iron,  but  alive  to  the  pangs  of  hunger.     The  men,  tat- 


CHELKASH  127 

tered,  drenched  with  sweat,  made  dull  by  weariness,  and 
din  and  heat ;  and  the  mighty  machines,  created  by  those 
men,  shining,  well-fed,  serene,  in  the  sunshine ;  machines 
which  in  the  last  resort  are,  after  all,  not  set  in  motion 
by  steam,  but  by  the  muscles  and  blood  of  their  creators 
— in  this  contrast  was  a  whole  poem  of  cruel  and  frigid 
irony. 

The  clamor  oppressed  the  spirit,  the  dust  fretted  the 
nostrils  and  blinded 'the  eyes,  the  sweltering  heat  baked 
and  exhausted  the  body,  and  everything — buildings, 
men,  pavement — seemed  strained,  breaking,  ready  to 
burst,  losing  patience,  on  the  verge  of  exploding  into 
some  immense  catastrophe,  some  outbreak,  after  which 
one  would  be  able  to  breathe  freely  and  easily  in  the  air 
refreshed  by  it.  On  the  earth  there  would  be  quietness; 
and  that  dusty  uproar,  deafening,  fretting  the  nerves, 
driving  one  to  melancholy  frenzy,  would  vanish ;  and  in 
town,  and  sea  and  ^y,  it  would  be  still  and  clear  and 
pleasant.  But  that  was  only  seeming.  It  seemed  so 
because  man  has  not  yet  grown  weary  of  hoping  for 
better  things,  and  the  longing  to  feel  free  is  not  dead  in 
him. 

Twelve  times  there  rang  out  the  regular  musical  peal 
of  the  bell.  When  the  last  brazen  clang  had  died  away, 
the  savage  orchestra  of  toil  had  already  lost  half  its 
volume.  A  minute  later  it  had  passed  into  a  dull,  repin- 
ing grumble.  Now  the  voices  of  men  and  the  splash 
of  the  sea  could  be  heard  more  clearly.  The  dinner- 
hour  had  come. 


128  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

CHAPTER  I 

When  the  dock  laborers,  knocking  off  work,  had  scat- 
tered about  the  dock  in  noisy  groups,  buying  various 
edibles  from  the  women  hawking  food,  and  were  settling 
themselves  to  dinner  in  shady  corners  on  the  pavement, 
there  walked  into  their  midst  Grishka  Chelkash,  an 
old  hunted  wolf,  well  known  to  all  the  dock  population 
as  a  hardened  drunkard  and  a  bold  and  dexterous  thief. 
He  Avas  barefoot  and  bareheaded,  clad  in  old,  thread- 
bare, shoddy  breeches,  in  a  dirty  print  shirt,  with  a  torn 
collar  that  displayed  his  mobile,  dry,  angular  bones 
tightly  covered  with  brown  skin.  From  the  ruffled  state 
of  his  black,  slightly  grizzled  hair  and  the  dazed  look  on 
his  keen,  predatory  face,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  only 
just  waked  up.  There  was  a  straw  sticking  in  one 
brown  mustache,  another  straw  clung  to  the  scrubby 
bristles  of  his  shaved  left  cheek,  and  behind  his  ear  he 
had  stuck  a  little,  freshly-picked  twig  of  lime.  Long, 
bony,  rather  stooping,  he  paced  slowly  over  the  flags, 
and  turning  his  hooked,  rapacious-looking  nose  from 
side  to  side,  he  cast  sharp  glances  about  him,  his  cold, 
gray  eyes  shining,  as  he  scanned  one  after  another  among 
the  dock  laborers.  His  thick  and  long  brown  mustaches 
were  continually  twitching  like  a  cat's  whiskers,  while 
he  rubbed  his  hands  behind  his  back,  nervously  clench- 
ing the  long,  crooked,  clutching  fingers.  Even  here, 
among  hundreds  of  striking-looking,  tattered  vagabonds 
like  himself,  he  attracted  attention  at  once  from  his  re- 
semblance to  a  vulture  of  the  steppes,  from  his  hungry- 
looking  thinness,  and  from  that  peculiar  gait  of  his, 


CHELKASH  129 

as  though  pouncing  down  on  his  prey,  so  smooth  and 
easy  in  appearance,  but  inwardly  intent  and  alert,  like 
the  flight  of  the  keen,  nervous  bird  he  resembled. 

As  he  reached  one  of  the  groups  of  ragged  dockers, 
reclining  in  the  shade  of  a  stack  of  coal  baskets,  there 
rose  to  meet  him  a  thick-set  young  man,  with  purple 
blotches  on  his  dull  face  and  scratches  on  his  neck,  un- 
mistakeable  traces  of  a  recent  thrashing.  He  got  up 
and  walked  beside  Chelkash,  saying,  in  an  undertone : 

"The  dock  officers  have  got  wind  of  the  two  cases  of 
goods.    They're  on  the  look-out.    D'ye  hear,  Grishka?" 

"What  then  ?"  queried  Chelkash,  cooly  measuring  him 
with  his  eyes. 

"How  'what  then?*  They're  on  the  look-out,  I  say. 
That's  all." 

"Did  they  ask  for  me  to  help  them  look?" 

And  with  an  acrid  smile  Chelkash  looked  toward  the 
storehouse  of  the  Volunteer  Fleet. 

"You  go  to  the  devil !" 

His  companion  turned  away. 

"Ha,  wait  a  bit!  Who's  been  decorating  you  like 
that  ?  Why,  what  a  sight  they  have  made  of  your  sign- 
board !    Have  you  seen  Mishka  here  ?" 

"I've  not  seen  him  this  long  while !"  the  other  shouted, 
and  hastily  went  back  to  his  companions. 

Chelkash  went  on  farther,  greeted  by  everyone  as  a 
familiar  figure.  But  he,  usually  so  lively  and  sarcastic, 
was  unmistakeably  out  of  humor  to-day,  and  made  short 
and  abrupt  replies  to  all  inquiries. 

From  behind  a  pile  of  goods  emerged  a  customs- 
house  officer,  a  dark  green,  dusty  tiffure.  of  military 


130  CREATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

erectness.  He  barred  the  way  for  Chelkash,  standing 
before  him  in  a  challenging  attitude,  his  left  hand 
clutching  the  hilt  of  his  dirk,  while  with  his  right  he 
tried  to  seize  Chelkash  by  the  collar. 

"Stop  !     Where  are  you  going  ?" 

Chelkash  drew  back  a  step,  raised  his  eyes,  looked 
at  the  official,  and  smiled  dryly. 

The  red,  good-humoredly  crafty  face  of  the  official,  in 
its  attempt  to  assume  a  menacing  air,  puffed  and  grew 
round  and  purple,  while  the  brows  scowled,  the  eyes 
rolled,  and  the  effect  was  very  comic. 

"You've  been  told — don't  you  dare  come  into  the 
dock,  or  I'll  break  your  ribs !  And  you're  here  again !" 
the  man  roared  threateningly. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Semyonitch !  It's  a  long  while  since 
we've  seen  each  other,"  Chelkash  greeted  him  calmly, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"Thankful  never  to  see  you  again !  Get  along,  get 
along !" 

But  yet  Semyonitch  took  the  outstretched  hand. 

"You  tell  me  this,"  Chelkash  went  on,  his  gripping 
fingers  still  keeping  their  hold  of  Semyonitch's  hand, 
and  shaking  it  with  friendly  familiarity,  "haven't  you 
seen  Mishka?" 

"Mishka,  indeed,  who's  Mishka?  I  don't  know  any 
Mishka.  Get  along,  mate !  or  the  inspector'll  see  you, 
he'll " 

"The  red-haired  fellow  that  I  worked  with  last  time 
on  the  'Kostroma'?"  Chelkash  persisted. 

"That  you  steal  with,  you'd  better  say.  He's  been 
taken  to  the  hospital,  your  Mishka ;  his  foot  was  crushed 


CHELKASH  131 

by  an  iron  bar.  Go  away,  mate,  while  you're  asked  to 
civilly,  go  away,  or  I'll  chuck  you  out  by  the  scruff  of 
your  neck." 

"A-ha,  that's  like  you  !  And  you  say — you  don't  know 
Mishka  !    But  I  say,  why  are  you  so  cross,  Semyonitch  ?" 

"I  tell  you,  Grishka,  don't  give  me  any  of  your  jaw. 
G(^o !" 

The  official  began  to  get  angry  and,  looking  from  side 
to  side,  tried  to  pull  his  hand  away  from  Chelkash's 
firm  grip.  Chelkash  looked  calmly  at  him  from  under 
his  thick  eyebrows,  smiled  behind  his  mustache,  and 
not  letting  go  of  his  hand,  went  on  talking. 

*T)on't  hurry  me.  I'll  just  have  my  chat  out  with 
you,  and  then  I'll  go.  Come,  tell  us  how  you're  getting 
on;  wife  and  children  quite  well?"  And  with  a  spite- 
ful gleam  in  his  eyes,  he  added,  showing  his  teeth  in 
a  mocking  grin :  "I've  been  meaning  to  pay  you  a  call 
for  ever  so  long,  but  I've  not  had  the  time,  I'm  always 
drinking,  you  see." 

"Now — now  then — you  drop  that!  You — none  of 
your  jokes,  you  bony  devil.  I'm  in  earnest,  my  man. 
So  you  mean  you're  coming  stealing  in  the  houses  and 
the  streets?" 

"What  for?  Why  there's  goods  enough  here  to  last 
our  time — for  you  and  me.  By  God,  there's  enough, 
Semyonitch !  So  you've  been  filching  two  cases  of 
goods,  eh?  Mind,  Semyonitch,  you'd  better  look  out! 
You'll  get  caught  one  day !" 

Enraged  by  Chelkash's  insolence,  Semyonitch  turned 
blue,  and  struggled,  spluttering  and  trying  to  say 
something.    Chelkash  let  go  of  his  hand,  and  with  com- 


132  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

plete  composure  strode  back  to  the  dock  gates.  The 
customs-house  officer  followed  him,  swearing  furiously. 
Chelkash  grew  more  cheerful;  he  whistled  shrilly 
through  his  teeth,  and  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
breeches  pockets,  walked  with  the  deliberate  gait  of  a 
man  of  leisure,  firing  off  to  right  and  to  left  biting  jeers 
and  jests.    He  was  followed  by  retorts  in  the  same  vein. 

"I  say,  Grishka,  what  good  care  they  do  take  of  you ! 
Made  your  inspection,  eh  ?"  shouted  one  out  of  a  group 
of  dockers,  who  had  finished  dinner  and  were  lying  on 
the  ground,  resting, 

"I'm  barefoot,  so  here's  Semyonitch  watching  that  I 
shouldn't  graze  my  foot  on  anything,"  answered  Chel- 
kash. 

They  reached  the  gates.  Two  soldiers  felt  Chelkash 
all  over,  and  gave  him  a  slight  shove  into  the  streets. 

"Don't  let  him  go !"  wailed  Semyonitch,  who  had 
stayed  behind  in  the  dockyard. 

Chelkash  crossed  the  road  and  sat  down  on  a  stone 
post  opposite  the  door  of  the  inn.  From  the  dock  gates 
rolled  rumbling  an  endless  string  of  laden  carts.  To 
meet  them,  rattled  empty  carts,  with  their  drivers  jolt- 
ing up  and  down  in  them.  The  dock  vomited  howling 
din  and  biting  dust,  and  set  the  earth  quaking. 

Chelkash,  accustomed  to  this  frenzied  uproar,  and 
roused  by  his  scene  with  Semyonitch,  felt  in  excellent 
spirits.  Before  him  lay  the  attractive  prospect  of  a  sub- 
stantial haul,  which  would  call  for  some  little  exertion 
and  a  great  deal  of  dexterity;  Chelkash  was  confident 
that  he  had  plenty  of  the  latter,  and,  half-closing  his 
eyes,   dreamed   of   how   he   would    indulge   to-morrow 


CHELKASH  133 

morning  when  the  business  would  be  over  and  the  notes 
would  be  rustling  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  thought  of 
his  comrade,  Mishka,  who  would  have  been  very  useful 
that  night,  if  he  had  not  hurt  his  foot ;  Chelkash  swore 
to  himself,  thinking  that,  all  alone,  without  Mishka, 
maybe  he'd  hardly  manage  it  all.  What  sort  of  night 
would  it  be  ?  Chelkash  looked  at  the  sky,  and  along  the 
street. 

Half-a-dozen  paces  from  him,  on  the  flagged  pave- 
ment, there  sat,  leaning  against  a  stone  post,  a  young 
fellow  in  a  coarse  blue  linen  shirt,  and  breeches  of  the 
same,  in  plaited  bark  shoes,  and  a  torn,  reddish  cap. 
Near  him  lay  a  little  bag,  and  a  scythe  without  a  han- 
dle, with  a  wisp  of  hay  twisted  round  it  and  carefully 
tied  with  string.  The  youth  was  broad-shouldered, 
squarely  built,  flaxen  headed,  with  a  sunburnt  and 
weather-beaten  face,  and  big  blue  eyes  that  stared  with 
confident  simplicity  at  Chelkash. 

Chelkash  grinned  at  him,  put  out  his  tongue,  and 
making  a  fearful  face,  stared  persistently  at  him  with 
wide-open  eyes. 

The  young  fellow  at  first  blinked  in  bewilderment, 
but  then,  suddenly  bursting  into  a  guffaw,  shouted 
through  his  laughter :  "Oh  !  you  funny  chap  !"  and  half 
getting  up  from  the  ground,  rolled  clumsily  from  his 
post  to  Chelkash's,  upsetting  his  bag  into  the  dust,  and 
knocking  the  heel  of  his  scythe  on  the  stone. 

"Eh,  mate,  you've  been  on  the  spree,  one  can  see  \" 
he  said  to  Chelkash,  pulling  at  his  trousers. 

"That's  so,  suckling,  that's  so  indeed !"  Chelkash  ad- 
mitted frankly;  he  took  at  once  to  this  healthy,  simple- 


134  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

hearted  youth,  with  his  childish  clear  eyes.  "Been  off 
mowing,  eh  ?" 

"To  be  sure !  You've  to  mow  a  verst  to  earn  ten 
kopecks  !  It's  a  poor  business  !  Folks — in  masses !  Men 
had  come  tramping  from  the  famine  parts.  They've 
knocked  down  the  prices,  go  where  you  will.  Sixty  ko- 
pecks they  paid  in  Kuban.  And  in  years  gone  by,  they 
do  say,  it  was  three,  and  four,  and  five  roubles." 

"In  years  gone  by !  Why,  in  years  gone  by,  for  the 
mere  sight  of  a  Russian  they  paid  three  roubles  out  that 
way.  Ten  years  ago  I  used  to  make  a  regular  trade  of 
it.  One  would  go  to  a  settlement — *I'm  a  Russian,'  one 
said — and  they'd  come  and  gaze  at  you  at  once,  touch 
you,  wonder  at  you,  and — you'd  get  three  roubles.  And 
they'd  give  you  food  and  drink — stay  as  long  as  you 
like !" 

As  the  youth  listened  to  Chelkash,  at  first  his  mouth 
dropped  open,  his  round  face  expressing  bewildered  rap- 
ture; then,  grasping  the  fact  that  this  tattered  fellow 
was  romancing,  he  closed  his  lips  with  a  smack  and 
guffawed.  Chelkash  kept  a  serious  face,  hiding  a  smile 
in  his  mustache. 

"You  funny  chap,  you  chaff  away  as  though  it  were 
the  truth,  and  I  listen  as  if  it  were  a  bit  of  news !  No, 
upon  my  soul,  in  years  gone  by " 

"Why,  and  didn't  I  say  so?  To  be  sure,  I'm  telling 
you  how  in  years  gone  by " 

"Go  on !"  the  lad  waved  his  hand.  "A  cobbler,  eh  ? 
or  a  tailor  ?  or  what  are  you  ?" 

"I  ?"  Chelkash  queried,  and  after  a  moment's  thought 
he  said :     "I'm  a  fisherman." 


CHELKASH  135 

"A  fi-isherman  !    Eeally  ?    You  catch  fish  ?" 

''Why  fish  ?     Fishermen  about  here  don't  catch  fish 

only.     They  fish  more  for  drowned  men,  old  anchors, 

sunk  ships — everything !     There  are  hooks  on  purpose 

for  all  that." 

"Go  on !    That  sort  of  fishermen,  maybe,  that  sing  of 

themselves : 

"We  cast  our  nets 
Over  banks  that  are  dry, 
Over  storerooms  and  pantries!" 


"Why,  have  you  seen  any  of  that  sort?"  inquired 
Chelkash,  looking  scoffingly  at  him  and  thinking  that 
this  nice  youth  was  very  stupid. 

"No,  seen  them  I  haven't!    I've  heard  tell." 

"Do  you  like  them  ?" 

"Like  them?  May  be.  They're  all  right,  fine  bold 
chaps — free." 

"And  what's — freedom  to  you?  Do  you  care  for 
freedom  ? ' ' 

"Well,  I  should  think  so !  Be  your  own  master,  go 
where  you  please,  do  as  you  like.  To  be  sure !  If  you 
know  how  to  behave  yourself,  and  you've  nothing  weigh- 
ing upon  you — it's  first  rate.  Enjoy  yourself  all  you 
can,  only  be  mindful  of  God." 

Chelkash  spat  contemptuously,  and  turning  away 
from  the  youth,  dropped  the  conversation. 

''Here's  my  case  now,"  the  latter  began,  with  sudden 
animation.  "As  my  father's  dead,  my  bit  of  land's 
email,  my  mother's  old,  all  the  land's  sucked  dry,  what 


136  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

am  I  to  do  ?  I  must  live.  And  how  ?  There's  no  tell- 
ing. 

"Am  I  to  marry  into  some  well-to-do  house?  I'd  be 
glad  to,  if  only  they'd  let  their  daughter  have  her  share 
apart. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  the  devil  of  a  father-in-law  won't 
consent  to  that.  And  so  I  shall  have  to  slave  for  him — 
for  ever  so  long — for  years.  A  nice  state  of  things,  you 
know! 

"But  if  I  could  earn  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty 
roubles,  I  could  stand  on  my  own  feet,  and  look  as- 
kance at  old  An  tip,  and  tell  him  straight  out !  Will 
you  give  Marf a  her  share  apart  ?  No  ?  all  right,  then ! 
Thank  God,  she's  not  the  only  girl  in  the  village.  And 
I  should  be,  I  mean,  quite  free  and  independent. 

"Ah,  yes !"  the  young  man  sighed.  "But  as  'tis, 
there's  nothing  for  it,  but  to  marry  and  live  at  my 
father-in-law's.  I  was  thinking  I'd  go,  d'ye  see,  to  Ku- 
ban, and  make  some  two  hundred  roubles — straight  off ! 
Be  a  gentleman !  But  there,  it  was  no  go !  It  didn't 
come  off.  Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  work  for  my 
father-in-law !  Be  a  day-laborer.  For  I'll  never  man- 
age on  my  own  bit — not  anyhow.    Heigh-ho !" 

The  lad  extremely  disliked  the  idea  of  bondage  to 
his  future  father-in-law.  His  face  positively  darkened 
and  looked  gloomy.  He  shifted  clumsily  on  the  ground 
and  drew  Chelkash  out  of  the  reverie  into  which  he  had 
sunk  during  his  speech. 

Chelkash  felt  that  he  had  no  inclination  now  to  talk 
to  him,  yet  he  asked  him  another  question:  *^Where 
are  you  going  now?" 


CHELKASH  137 

*^hy,  where  should  I  go  ?    Home,  to  be  sure." 

'"Well,  mate,  I  couldn't  be  sure  of  that,  you  might 
be  on  your  way  to  Turkey." 

"To  Tu-urkey!"  drawled  the  youth.  "Why,  what 
good  Christian  ever  goes  there !     Well  I  never  \" 

"Oh,  you  fool  \"  sighed  Chelkash,  and  again  he  turned 
away  from  his  companion,  conscious  this  time  of  a  posi- 
tive disinclination  to  waste  another  word  on  him.  This 
stalwart  village  lad  roused  some  feeling  in  him.  It  was 
a  vague  feeling  of  annoyance,  that  grew  instinctively, 
stirred  deep  down  in  his  heart,  and  hindered  him  from 
concentrating  himself  on  the  consideration  of  all  that 
he  had  to  do  that  night. 

The  lad  he  had  thus  reviled  muttered  something, 
casting  occasionally  a  dubious  glance  at  Chelkash.  His 
cheeks  were  comically  puffed  out,  his  lips  parted,  and 
his  eyes  were  screwed  up  and  blinking  with  extreme 
rapidity.  He  had  obviously  not  expected  so  rapid  and 
insulting  a  termination  to  his  conversation  with  this 
long-whiskered  ragamuffin.  The  ragamuffin  took  no 
further  notice  of  him.  He  whistled  dreamily,  sitting 
on  the  stone  post,  and  beating  time  on  it  with  his 
bare,  dirty  heel. 

The  young  peasant  wanted  to  be  quits  with  him. 

"Hi,  you  there,  iisherman!  Do  you  often  get  tipsy 
like  this?"  he  was  beginning,  but  at  the  same  instant 
the  fisherman  turned  quickly  towards  him,  and  asked : 

"I  say,  suckling !  Would  you  like  a  job  to-night 
with  me?    Eh?    Tell  me  quickly!" 

"What  sort  of  a  job?"  the  lad  asked  him,  distrust- 
fully. 


138  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"What!  What  I  set  you.  We're  going  fishing. 
You'll  row  the  boat." 

"Well.  Yes.  All  right.  I  don't  mind  a  job.  Only 
there's  this.  I  don't  want  to  get  into  a  mess  with  you. 
You're  so  awfully  deep.     You're  rather  shady." 

Chelkash  felt  a  scalding  sensation  in  his  breast,  and 
with  cold  anger  he  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"And  you'd  better  hold  your  tongue,  whatever  you 
think,  or  I'll  give  you  a  tap  on  your  nut  that  will  make 
things  light  enough." 

He  jumped  up  from  his  post,  tugged  at  his  moustache 
with  his  left  hand,  while  his  sinewy  right  hand  was 
clenched  into  a  fist,  hard  as  iron,  and  his  eyes  gleamed. 

The  youth  was  frightened.  He  looked  quickly  round 
him,  and  blinking  uneasily,  he,  too,  jumped  up  from 
the  ground.  Measuring  one  another  with  their  eyes, 
they  paused. 

"Well?"  Chelkash  queried,  sullenly.  He  was  boiling 
inwardly,  and  trembling  at  the  affront  dealt  him  by  this 
young  calf,  whom  he  had  despised  while  he  talked  to 
him,  but  now  hated  all  at  once  because  he  had  such 
clear  blue  eyes,  such  health,  a  sunburned  face,  and  broad, 
strong  hands;  because  he  had  somewhere  a  village,  a 
home  in  it,  because  a  well-to-do  peasant  wanted  him 
for  a  son-in-law,  because  of  all  his  life,  past  and  future, 
and  most  of  all,  because  he — this  babe  compared  with 
Chelkash — dared  to  love  freedom,  which  he  could  not 
appreciate,  nor  need.  It  is  always  unpleasant  to  see 
that  a  man  one  regards  as  baser  or  lower  than  oneself 
likes  or  hates  the  same  things,  and  so  puts  himself  on 
a  level  with  oneself. 


CHELKASH  139 

The  young  peasant  looked  at  Chelkash  and  saw  in 
him  an  employer. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "I  don't  mind.  I'm  glad  of  it 
Why,  it's  work  I'm  looking  for.  I  don't  care  whom  I 
work  for,  you  or  any  other  man.  I  only  meant  that 
you  don't  look  like  a  working  man — a  bit  too — ragged. 
Oh,  I  know  that  may  happen  to  anyone.  Good  Lord, 
as  though  I've  never  seen  drunkards !  Lots  of  them ! 
and  worse  than  you,  too." 

"All  right,  all  right!  Then  you  agree?"  Chelkash 
said  more  amicably. 

"I  ?     Ye-es  !     With  pleasure !     Name  your  terms." 

"That's  according  to  the  job.  As  the  job  turns  out. 
According  to  our  catch,  that's  to  say.  Five  roubles  you 
may  get.    Do  you  see  ?" 

But  now  it  was  a  question  of  money,  and  in  that  the 
peasant  wished  to  be  precise,  and  demanded  the  same 
exactness  from  his  employer.  His  distrust  and  sus- 
picion revived. 

"That's  not  my  way  of  doing  business,  mate!  A 
bird  in  the  hand  for  me." 

Chelkash  threw  himself  into  his  part. 

"Don't  argue,  wait  a  bit !    Come  into  the  restaurant." 

And  they  went  down  the  street  side  by  side,  Chelkash 
with  the  dignified  air  of  an  employer,  twisting  his 
mustaches,  the  youth  with  an  expression  of  absolute 
readiness  to  give  way  to  him,  but  yet  full  of  distrust 
and  uneasiness. 

"And  what's  your  name?"  asked  Chelkash. 

"Gavrilo !"  answered  the  youth. 

When  they  had  come  into  the  dirty  and  smoky  eating- 


140  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

bouse,  and  Chelkash  going  up  to  the  counter,  in  the 
familiar  tone  of  an  habitual  customer,  ordered  a  bottle 
of  vodka,  cabbage  soup,  a  cut  from  the  joint,  and  tea, 
and  reckoning  up  his  order,  flung  the  waiter  a  brief 
"put  it  all  down !"  to  which  the  waiter  nodded  in 
silence, — Gavrilo  was  at  once  filled  with  respect  for 
this  ragamuffin,  his  employer,  who  enjoyed  here  such  an 
established  and  confident  position. 

"Well,  now  we'll  have  a  bit  of  lunch  and  talk  things 
over.    You  sit  still,  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

He  went  out.  Gavrilo  looked  round.  The  restaurant 
was  in  an  underground  basement;  it  was  damp  and 
dark,  and  reeked  with  the  stifling  fumes  of  vodka,  to- 
bacco-smoke, tar,  and  some  acrid  odor.  Facing  Gavrilo 
at  another  table  sat  a  drunken  man  in  the  dress  of  a 
sailor,  with  a  red  beard,  all  over  coal-dust  and  tar. 
Hiccupping  every  minute,  he  was  droning  a  song  all 
made  up  of  broken  and  incoherent  words,  strangely  sibi- 
lant and  guttural  sounds.  He  was  unmistakably  not  a 
Russian. 

Behind  him  sat  two  Moldavian  women,  tattered, 
black-haired  sunburned  creatures,  who  were  chanting 
some  sort  of  song,  too,  with  drunken  voices. 

And  from  the  darkness  beyond  emerged  other  figures, 
all  strangely  dishevelled,  all  half -drunk,  noisy  and  rest- 
less. 

Gavrilo  felt  miserable  here  alone.  He  longed  for  his 
■^.mployer  to  come  back  quickly.  And  the  din  in  the 
iating-house  got  louder  and  louder.  Growing  shriller 
every  second,  it  all  melted  into  one  note,  and  it  seemed 
like  the  roaring  of  some  monstrous  beast,  with  hun- 


CHELKASH  141 

dreds  of  different  throats,  vaguely  enraged,  trying  to 
struggle  out  of  this  damp  hole  and  unable  to  find  a 
way  out  to  freedom.  Gavrilo  felt  something  intoxicat- 
ing and  oppressive  creeping  over  him,  over  all  his  limbs, 
making  his  head  reel,  and  his  eyes  grow  dim,  as  they 
moved  inquisitively  about  the  eating-house. 

Chelkash  came  in,  and  they  began  eating  and  drink- 
ing and  talking.  At  the  third  glass  Gavrilo  was  drunk. 
He  became  lively  and  wanted  to  say  something  pleasant 
to  his  employer,  who — the  good  fellow ! — though  he  had 
done  nothing  for  him  yet,  was  entertaining  him  so 
agreeably.  But  the  words  which  flow-ed  in  perfect  waves 
to  his  throat,  for  some  reason  would  not  come  from 
his  tongue. 

Chelkash  looked  at  him  and  smiled  sarcastically,  say- 
ing: 

"You're  screwed !  Ugh — milksop  ! — with  five  glasses ! 
how  will  you  work?" 

*T)ear  fellow  \"  Gavrilo  melted  into  a  drunken,  good- 
natured  smile.  "Never  fear !  I  respect  you !  That  is, 
look  here!     Let  me  kiss  you!  eh?" 

"Come,  come!     A  drop  more!" 

Gavrilo  drank,  and  at  last  reached  a  condition  when 
everything  seemed  waving  up  and  down  in  regular 
undulations  before  his  eyes.  It  was  unpleasant  and 
made  him  feel  sick.  His  face  wore  an  expression  of 
childish  bewilderment  and  foolish  enthusiasm.  Trying 
to  say  something,  he  smacked  his  lips  absurdly  and 
bellowed.  Chelkash,  watching  him  intently,  twisted  his 
mustaches,  and  as  though  recollecting  something,  still 
smiled  to  himself,  but  morosely  now  and  maliciously. 


142  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

The  eating-house  roared  with  drunken  clamor.  The 
red-headed  sailor  was  asleep,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
table. 

"Come,  let's  go  then!"  said   Chelkash,  getting  up. 

Gavrilo  tried  to  get  up,  but  could  not,  and  with  a 
vigorous  oath,  he  laughed  a  meaningless,  drunken 
laugh. 

"Quite  screwed !"  said  Chelkash,  sitting  down  again 
opposite  him. 

Gavrilo  still  guffawed,  staring  with  dull  eyes  at  his 
new  employer.  And  the  latter  gazed  at  him  intently, 
vigilantly  and  thoughtfully.  He  saw  before  him  a  man 
whose  life  had  fallen  into  his  wolfish  clutches.  He, 
Chelkash,  felt  that  he  had  the  power  to  do  with  it  as  he 
pleased.  He  could  rend  it  like  a  card,  and  he  could 
help  to  set  it  on  a  firm  footing  in  its  peasant  frame- 
work. He  revelled  in  feeling  himself  master  of  another 
man,  and  thought  that  never  would  this  peasant-lad 
drink  of  such  a  cup  as  destiny  had  given  him,  Chel- 
kash, to  drink.  And  he  envied  this  young  life  and 
pitied  it,  sneered  at  it,  and  was  even  troubled  over  it, 
picturing  to  himself  how  it  might  again  fall  into  such 
hands  as  his. 

And  all  these  feelings  in  the  end  melted  in  Chelkash 
into  one — a  fatherly  sense  of  proprietorship  in  him. 
He  felt  sorry  for  the  boy,  and  the  boy  was  necessary 
to  him.  Then  Chelkash  took  Gavrilo  under  the  arms, 
and  giving  him  a  slight  shove  behind  with  his  knee, 
got  him  out  into  the  yard  of  the  eating-house,  where 
he  put  him  on  the  ground  in  the  shade  of  a  stack  of 
wood,  then  he  sat  down  beside  him  and  lighted  his  pipe. 


CHELKASH  14:3 

Gavrilo  shifted  about  a  little,  muttered,  and  dropped 
asleep. 

CHAPTER   II. 

*'CoME,  ready?"  Chelkash  asked  in  a  low  voice  of 
Gavrilo,  who  was  busy  doing  something  to  the  oars. 

"In  a  minute !  The  rowlock  here's  unsteady,  can  I 
just  knock  it  in  with  the  oar?" 

"No — no !  Not  a  sound !  Push  it  down  harder  with 
your  hand,  it'll  go  in  of  itself." 

They  were  both  quietly  getting  out  a  boat,  which  was 
tied  to  the  stern  of  one  of  a  whole  flotilla  of  oak- 
laden  barges,  and  big  Turkish  feluccas,  half  unloaded, 
half  still  full  of  palm-oil,  sandal  wood,  and  thick  trunks 
of  cypress. 

The  night  was  dark,  thick  strata  of  ragged  clouds 
were  moving  across  the  sky,  and  the  sea  was  quiet, 
black,  and  thick  as  oil.  It  wafted  a  damp  and  salt 
aroma,  and  splashed  caressingly  on  the  sides  of  the  ves- 
sels and  the  banks,  setting  Chelkash's  boat  lightly  rock- 
ing. There  were  boats  all  round  them.  At  a  long  dis- 
tance from  the  shore  rose  from  the  sea  the  dark  outlines 
of  vessels,  thrusting  up  into  the  dark  sky  their  pointed 
masts  with  various  colored  lights  at  their  tops.  The 
sea  reflected  the  lights,  and  was  spotted  with  masses 
of  yellow,  quivering  patches.  This  was  very  beautiful 
on  the  velvety  bosom  of  the  soft,  dull  black  water,  so 
rhythmically,  mightily  breathing.  The  sea  slept  the 
sound,  healthy  sleep  of  a  workman,  wearied  out  by  his 
day's  toil. 


144  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

''We're  off!"  said  Gavrilo,  dropping  the  oars  into  the 
water. 

"Yes !"  With  a  vigorous  turn  of  the  rudder  Chel- 
kash  drove  the  boat  into  a  strip  of  water  between  two 
barks,  and  they  darted  rapidly  over  the  smooth  surface, 
that  kindled  into  bluish  phosphorescent  light  under  the 
strokes  of  the  oars.  Behind  the  boat's  stern  lay  a  wind- 
ing ribbon  of  this  phosphorescence,  broad  and  quiver- 
ing. 

"Well,  how's  your  head,  aching?"  asked  Chelkash, 
smiling. 

"Awfully !  Like  iron  ringing.  I'll  wet  it  with  some 
water  in  a  minute." 

"Why?  You'd  better  wet  your  inside,  that  may  get 
rid  of  it.  You  can  do  that  at  once."  He  held  out  a 
bottle  to  Gavrilo. 

"Eh?    Lord  bless  you !" 

There  was  a  faint  sound  of  swallowing. 

"Aye!  aye!  like  it?  Enough!"  Chelkash  stopped 
him. 

The  boat  darted  on  again,  noiselessly  and  lightly 
threading  its  way  among  the  vessels.  All  at  once,  they 
emerged  from  the  labyrinth  of  ships,  and  the  sea, 
boundless,  mute,  shining  and  rhythmically  breathing, 
lay  open  before  them,  stretching  far  into  the  distance, 
where  there  rose  out  of  its  waters  masses  of  storm 
clouds,  some  lilac-blue  with  fluffy  yellow  edges,  and 
some  greenish  like  the  color  of  the  seawater,  or  those 
dismal,  leaden-colored  clouds  that  cast  such  heavy, 
dreary  shadows,  oppressing  mind  and  soul.  They 
crawled  slowly  after  one  another,  one  melting  into  an- 


CHELKASH  145 

other,  one  overtaking  another,  and  there  was  sometliing 
weird  in  this  slow  procession  of  soulless  masses.  It 
fieemed  as  though  there,  at  the  sea's  rim,  they  were  a 
countless  multitude,  that  they  would  forever  crawl  thus 
sluggishly  over  the  sky,  striving  with  dull  malignance 
to  hinder  it  from  peeping  at  the  sleeping  sea  with  its 
millions  of  golden  eyes,  the  various  colored,  vivid  stars, 
that  shine  so  dreamily  and  stir  high  hopes  in  all  who 
love  their  pure,  holy  light.  Over  the  sea  hovered  the 
vague,  soft  sound  of  its  drowsy  breathing. 

"The  sea's  fine,  eh?"  asked  Chelkash. 

"It's  all  right!  Only  I  feel  scared  on  it,"  answered 
Gavrilo,  pressing  the  oars  vigorously  and  evenly  through 
the  water.  The  water  faintly  gurgled  and  splashed  un- 
der the  strokes  of  his  long  oars,  splashed  glittering  with 
the  warm,  bluish,  phosphorescent  light. 

"Scared  !  What  a  fool !"  Chelkash  muttered,  discon- 
tentedly. 

He,  the  thief  and  cynic,  loved  the  sea.  His  effer- 
vescent, nervous  nature,  greedy  after  impressions,  was 
never  weary  of  gazing  at  that  dark  expanse,  boundless, 
free,  and  mighty.  And  it  hurt  him  to  hear  such  an 
answer  to  his  question  about  the  beauty  of  what  he 
loved.  Sitting  in  the  stern,  he  cleft  the  water  with 
his  oar,  and  looked  on  ahead  quietly,  filled  with  desire 
to  glide  far  on  this  velvety  surface,  not  soon  to  quit  it. 

On  the  sea  there  always  rose  up  in  him  a  broad, 
warm  feeling,  that  took  possession  of  his  whole  soul, 
and  somewhat  purified  it  from  the  sordidness  of  daily 
life.  He  valued  this,  and  loved  to  feel  himself  better 
out  here  in  the  midst  of  the  water  and  the  air,  where 


146  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

the  cares  of  life,  and  life  itself,  always  lose,  the  former 
their  keenness,  the  latter  its  value. 

"But  where's  the  tackle?  Eh?"  Gavrilo  asked  sus- 
piciously all  at  once,  peering  into  the  boat. 

Chelkash  started. 
"Tackle?     I've  got  it  in  the  stern/' 

"Why,  what  sort  of  tackle  is  it?"  Gavrilo  inquired 
again  with  surprised  suspicion  in  his  tone. 

"What  sort  ?  lines  and — "  But  Chelkash  felt  ashamed 
to  lie  to  this  boy,  to  conceal  his  real  plans,  and  he  was 
sorry  to  lose  what  this  peasant-lad  had  destroyed  in  his 
heart  by  this  question.  He  flew  into  a  rage.  That 
scalding  bitterness  he  knew  so  well  rose  in  his  breast 
and  his  throat,  and  impressively,  cruelly,  and  malig- 
nantly he  said  to  Gavrilo: 

"You're  sitting  here — and  I  tell  you,  you'd  better  sit 
quiet.  And  not  poke  your  nose  into  what's  not  your 
business.  You've  been  hired  to  row,  and  you'd  better 
TOW.  But  if  you  can't  keep  your  tongue  from  wagging, 
it  will  be  a  bad  lookout  for  you.    D'ye  see?" 

For  a  minute  the  boat  quivered  and  stopped.  The 
oars  rested  in  the  water,  setting  it  foaming,  and  Gav- 
rilo moved  uneasily  on  his  seat. 

"Row !" 

A  sharp  oath  rang  out  in  the  air.  Gavrilo  swung 
the  oars.  The  boat  moved  with  rapid,  irregular  jerks, 
noisily  cutting  the  water. 

"Steady !" 

Chelkash  got  up  from  the  stem,  still  holding  the 
oars  in  his  hands,  and  peering  with  his  cold  eyes  into 
the  pale  and  twitching  face  of  Gavrilo.    Crouching  for- 


CHELKASH  147 

ward  Chelkash  was  like  a  cat  on  the  point  of  spring- 
ing.    There  was  the  sound  of  angry  gnashing  of  teeth. 

"Who's  calling?"  rang  out  a  surly  shout  from  the  sea. 

"Now,  you  devil,  row!  quietly  with  the  oars!  I'll 
kill  you,  you  cur.  Come,  row !  One,  two !  There !  you 
only  make  a  sound  !  I'll  cut  your  throat !"  hissed  Chel- 
kash. 

"Mother  of  God — Holy  Virgin — "  muttered  Gavrilo, 
shaking  and  numb  with  terror  and  exertion. 

The  boat  turned  smoothly  and  went  back  toward 
the  harbor,  where  the  lights  gathered  more  closely  into 
a  group  of  many  colors  and  the  straight  stems  of  masts 
could  be  seen. 

"Hi !  Who's  shouting  ?"  floated  across  again.  The 
voice  was  farther  off  this  time.  Chelkash  grew  calm 
again. 

"It's  yourself,  friend,  that's  shouting!"  he  said  in 
the  direction  of  the  shouts,  and  then  he  turned  to  Gav- 
rilo, who  was  muttering  a  prayer. 

"Well,  mate,  you're  in  luck !  If  those  devils  had  over- 
taken us,  it  would  have  been  all  over  with  you.  D'you 
see?    I'd  have  you  over  in  a  trice — to  the  fishes!" 

Now,  when  Chelkash  was  speaking  quietly  and  even 
good-humoredly,  Gavrilo,  still  shaking  with  terror,  be- 
sought him ! 

"Listen,  forgive  me!  For  Christ's  sake,  I  beg  you, 
let  me  go !  Put  me  on  shore  somewhere !  Aie-aie-aie  ! 
I'm  done  for  entirely !  Come,  think  of  God,  let  me  go ! 
What  am  I  to  you?  I  can't  do  it!  I've  never  been 
used  to  such  things.  It's  the  first  time.  Lord !  Why, 
I  shall  be  lost!    How  did  you  get  round  me,  mate?  eh? 


148  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

It's  a  shame  of  you!  Why,  you're  ruining  a  man's 
life !     Such  doings." 

'*What  doings ?"  Chelkash  asked  grimly.  "Eh?  Well, 
what  doings?" 

He  was  amused  by  the  youth's  terror,  and  he  enjoyed 
it  and  the  sense  that  he,  Chelkash,  was  a  terrible  per- 
son. 

"Shady  doings,  mate.  Let  me  go,  for  God's  sake  I 
What  am  I  to  you?  eh?     Good — dear — !" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  do !  If  you  weren't  wanted,  I 
shouldn't  have  taken  you.  Do  you  understand?  So, 
shut  up !" 

"Lord !"  Gavrilo  sighed,  sobbing. 

"Come,  come!  you'd  better  mind!"  Chelkash  cut 
him  short. 

But  Gavrilo  by  now  could  not  restrain  himself,  and 
quietly  sobbing,  he  wept,  sniffed,  and  writhed  in  his 
seat,  yet  rowed  vigorously,  desperately.  The  boat  shot 
on  like  an  arrow.  Again  dark  hulks  of  ships  rose  up 
on  their  way  and  the  boat  was  again  lost  among  them, 
winding  like  a  wolf  in  the  narrow  lanes  of  water  be- 
tween them. 

"Here,  you  listen !  If  anyone  asks  you  anything, — 
hold  your  tongue,  if  you  want  to  get  off  alive !  Do  you 
see?" 

"Oh — oh !"  Gavrilo  sighed  hopelessly  in  answer  to 
the  grim  advice,  and  bitterly  he  added:  "I'm  a  lost 
man !" 

"Don't  howl !"  Chelkash  whispered  impressively. 

This  whisper  deprived  Gavrilo  of  all  power  of  grasp- 
ing anything  and  transformed  him  into  a  senseless  au- 


CHELKASH  149 

tomaton,  wholly  absorbed  in  a  chill  presentiment  of 
calamity.  Mechanically  he  lowered  the  oars  into  the 
water,  threw  himself  back,  drew  them  out  and  dropped 
them  in  again,  all  the  while  staring  blankly  at  his 
plaited  shoes.  The  waves  splashed  against  the  vessels 
with  a  sort  of  menace,  a  sort  of  warning  in  their  drowsy 
sound  that  terrified  him.  The  dock  was  reached.  From 
its  granite  wall  came  the  sound  of  men's  voices,  the 
splash  of  water,  singing,  and  shrill  whistles. 

"Stop  !'*  whispered  Chelkash.  "Give  over  rowing ! 
Push  along  with  your  hands  on  the  wall !  Quietly,  you 
devil !" 

Gavrilo,  clutching  at  the  slippery  stone,  pushed  the 
boat  alongside  the  wall.  The  boat  moved  without  a 
sound,  sliding  alongside  the  green,  shiny  stone, 

"Stop  !  Give  me  the  oars !  Give  them  here.  Where's 
your  passport  ?  In  the  bag  ?  Give  me  the  bag !  Come, 
give  it  here  quickly !  That,  my  dear  fellow,  is  so  you 
shouldn't  run  off.  You  won't  run  away  now.  Without 
oars  you  might  have  got  off  somehow,  but  without  a 
passport  you'll  be  afraid  to.  Wait  here !  But  mind — 
if  you  squeak — to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  you  go !" 

And,  all  at  once,  clinging  on  to  something  with  his 
hands,  Chelkash  rose  in  the  air  and  vanished  onto  the 
wall. 

Gavrilo  shuddered.  It  had  all  happened  so  quickly. 
He  felt  as  though  the  cursed  weight  and  horror  that 
had  crushed  him  in  the  presence  of  this  thin  thief  with 
his  mustaches  was  loosened  and  rolling  off  him.  Now 
to  run!  And  breathing  freely,  he  looked  round  him. 
On  his  left  rose  a  black  hulk,  without  masts,  a  sort  of 


150  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

huge  coffin,  mute,  untenanted,  and  desolate.  Every 
splash  of  the  water  on  its  sides  awakened  a  hollow, 
resonant  echo  within  it,  like  a  heavy  sigh. 

On  the  right  the  damp  stone  wall  of  the  quay  trailed 
its  length,  winding  like  a  heavy,  chill  serpent.  Behind 
him,  too,  could  be  seen  black  blurs  of  some  sort,  while 
in  front,  in  the  opening  between  the  wall  and  the  side 
of  that  coffin,  he  could  see  the  sea,  a  silent  waste,  with 
the  storm-clouds  crawling  above  it.  Everything  was 
cold,  black,  malignant.  Gavrilo  felt  panic-stricken. 
This  terror  was  worse  than  the  terror  inspired  in  him 
by  Chelkash;  it  penetrated  into  Gavrilo's  bosom  with 
icy  keenness,  huddled  him  into  a  cowering  mass,  and 
kept  him  nailed  to  his  seat  in  the  boat. 

All  around  was  silent.  Not  a  sound  but  the  sighs  of 
the  sea,  and  it  seemed  as  though  this  silence  would 
instantly  be  rent  by  something  fearful,  furiously  loud, 
something  that  would  shake  the  sea  to  its  depths,  tear 
apart  these  heavy  flocks  of  clouds  on  the  sky,  and  scat- 
ter all  these  black  ships.  The  clouds  were  crawling 
over  the  sky  as  dismally  as  before;  more  of  them  still 
rose  up  out  of  the  sea,  and,  gazing  at  the  sky,  one 
might  believe  that  it,  too,  was  a  sea,  but  a  sea  in  agi- 
tation, and  grown  petrified  in  its  agitation,  laid  over 
that  other  sea  beneath,  that  was  so  drowsy,  serene,  and 
smooth.  The  clouds  were  like  waves,  flinging  them- 
selves with  curly  gray  crests  down  upon  the  earth  and 
into  the  abysses  of  space,  from  which  they  were  torn 
again  by  the  wind,  and  tossed  back  upon  the  rising 
billows  of  cloud,  that  were  not  yet  hidden  under  the 
greenish  foam  of  their  furious  agitation. 


CHELKASH  151 

Gavrilo  felt  crushed  by  this  gloomy  stillness  and 
beauty,  and  felt  that  he  longed  to  see  his  master  come 
back  quickly.  And  how  was  it  that  he  lingered  there 
so  long?  The  time  passed  slowly,  more  slowly  than 
those  clouds  crawled  over  the  sky.  And  the  stillness 
grew  more  malignant  as  time  went  on.  From  the  wall 
of  the  quay  came  the  sound  of  splashing,  rustling,  and 
something  like  whispering.  It  seemed  to  Gavrilo  that 
he  would  die  that  moment. 

"Hi!  Asleep?  Hold  it!  Carefully!"  sounded  the 
hollow  voice  of  Chelkash. 

From  the  wall  something  cubical  and  heavy  was  let 
down.  Gavrilo  took  it  into  the  boat.  Something  else 
like  it  followed.  Then  across  the  wall  stretched  Chel- 
kash's  long  figure,  the  oars  appeared  from  somewhere, 
Gavrilo's  bag  dropped  at  his  feet,  and  Chelkash,  breath- 
ing heavily,  settled  himself  in  the  stern. 

Gavrilo  gazed  at  him  with  a  glad  and  timid  smile. 

"Tired?'' 

"Bound  to  be  that,  calf !  Come  now,  row  your  best ! 
Put  your  back  into  it!  You've  earned  good  wages, 
mate.  Half  the  job's  done.  Now  we've  only  to  slip 
under  the  devils'  noses,  and  then  you  can  take  your 
money  and  go  off  to  your  Mashka.  You've  got  a 
Mashka,  I  suppose,  eh,  kiddy?" 

"N" — no !"  Gavrilo  strained  himself  to  the  utmost, 
working  his  chest  like  a  pair  of  bellows,  and  his  arms 
like  steel  springs.  The  water  gurgled  under  the  boat, 
and  the  blue  streak  behind  the  stern  was  broader  now. 
Gavrilo  was  soaked  through  with  sweat  at  once,  but 
he  still  rowed   on  vrith  all  his  might.     After  living 


152  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

through  such  terror  twice  that  night,  he  dreaded  now 
having  to  go  through  it  a  third  time,  and  longed  for 
one  thing  only — to  make  an  end  quickly  of  this  accursed 
task,  to  get  on  to  land,  and  to  run  away  from  thia 
man,  before  he  really  did  kill  him,  or  get  him  into 
prison.  He  resolved  not  to  speak  to  him  about  any- 
thing, not  to  contradict  him,  to  do  all  he  told  him, 
and,  if  he  should  succeed  in  getting  successfully  quit 
of  him,  to  pay  for  a  thanksgiving  service  to  be  said 
to-morrow  to  Nikolai  the  Wonder-worker.  A  passion- 
ate prayer  was  ready  to  burst  out  from  his  bosom. 
But  he  restrained  himself,  puffed  like  a  steamer,  and 
was  silent,  glancing  from  under  his  brows  at  Chelkash. 

The  latter,  with  his  lean,  long  figure  bent  forward 
like  a  bird  about  to  take  flight,  stared  into  the  dark- 
ness ahead  of  the  boat  with  his  hawk  eyes,  and  turn- 
ing his  rapacious,  hooked  nose  from  side  to  side,  gripped 
with  one  hand  the  rudder  handle,  while  with  the  other 
he  twirled  his  mustache,  that  was  continually  quivering 
with  smiles.  Chelkash  was  pleased  with  his  success, 
with  himself,  and  with  this  youth,  who  had  been  so 
frightened  of  him  and  had  been  turned  into  his  slave. 
He  had  a  vision  of  unstinted  dissipation  to-morrow, 
while  now  he  enjoyed  the  sense  of  his  strength,  which 
had  enslaved  this  young,  fresh  lad.  He  watched  how  he 
was  toiling,  and  felt  sorry  for  him,  wanted  to  encour- 
age him. 

"Eh  \"  he  said  softly,  with  a  grin.  "Were  you  awfully 
scared  ?  eh  ?" 

"Oh,  no !"  sighed  Gavrilo,  and  he  cleared  his  throat. 

"But  now  you  needn't  work  so  at  the  oars.     Ease 


CHELKASH  153 

off !    There's  only  one  place  now  to  pass.    Eest  a  bit." 

Gavrilo  obediently  paused,  nibbed  the  sweat  off  his 
face  with  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  and  dropped  the  oars 
again  into  the  water. 

"Now,  row  more  slowly,  so  that  the  water  shouldn't 
bubble.  We've  only  the  gates  to  pass.  Softly,  softly. 
For  they're  serious  people  here,  mate.  They  might  take 
a  pop  at  one  in  a  minute.  They'd  give  you  such  a 
bump  on  your  forehead,  you  wouldn't  have  time  to 
call  out." 

The  boat  now  crept  along  over  the  water  almost 
without  a  sound.  Only  from  the  oars  dripped  blue 
drops  of  water,  and  when  they  trickled  into  the  sea,  a 
blue  patch  of  light  was  kindled  for  a  minute  where  they 
fell.  The  night  had  become  still  warmer  and  more 
silent.  The  sky  was  no  longer  like  a  sea  in  turmoil, 
the  clouds  were  spread  out  and  covered  it  with  a 
smooth,  heavy  canopy  that  hung  low  over  the  water 
and  did  not  stir.  And  the  sea  was  still  more  calm  and 
black,  and  stronger  than  ever  was  the  warm  salt  smell 
from  it. 

"Ah,  if  only  it  would  rain !"  whispered  Chelkash. 
'^Ve  could  get  through  then,  behind  a  curtain  as  it 
were." 

On  the  right  and  the  left  of  the  boat,  like  houses 
rising  out  of  the  black  water,  stood  barges,  black,  mo- 
tionless, and  gloomy.  On  one  of  them  moved  a  light; 
some  one  was  walking  up  and  down  with  a  lantern. 
The  sea  stroked  their  sides  with  a  hollow  sound  of  sup- 
plication, and  they  responded  with  an  echo,  cold  and 
resonant,  as  though  unwilling  to  yield  anything. 


154  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"The  coastguards !"  Chelkash  whispered  hardly  above 
a  breath. 

Prom  the  moment  when  he  had  bidden  him  row 
more  slowly,  Gavrilo  had  again  been  overcome  by  that 
intense  agony  of  expectation.  He  craned  forward  into 
the  darkness,  and  he  felt  as  though  he  were  growing 
bigger;  his  bones  and  sinews  were  strained  with  a  dull 
ache,  his  head,  filled  with  a  single  idea,  ached,  the  skin 
on  his  back  twitched,  and  his  legs  seemed  pricked  with 
sharp,  chill  little  pins  and  needles.  His  eyes  ached 
from  the  strain  of  gazing  into  the  darkness,  whence  he 
expected  every  instant  something  would  spring  up  and 
shout  to  them :  "Stop,  thieves !" 

Now  when  Chelkash  whispered :  "The  coastguards  V 
Gavrilo  shuddered,  and  one  intense,  burning  idea  passed 
through  him,  and  thrilled  his  overstrained  nerves;  he 
longed  to  cry  out,  to  call  men  to  his  aid.  He  opened 
his  mouth,  and  half  rose  from  his  seat,  squared  his 
chest,  drew  in  a  full  draught  of  breath — and  opened 
his  mouth — but  suddenly,  struck  down  by  a  terror  that 
smote  him  like  a  whip,  he  shut  his  eyes  and  rolled 
forward  off  his  seat. 

Far  away  on  the  horizon,  ahead  of  the  boat,  there 
rose  up  out  of  the  black  water  of  the  sea  a  huge  fiery 
blue  sword;  it  rose  up,  cleaving  the  darkness  of  night, 
its  blade  glided  through  the  clouds  in  the  sky,  and 
lay,  a  broad  blue  streak  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea.  It 
lay  there,  and  in  the  streak  of  its  light  there  sprang 
•up  out  of  the  darkness  ships  unseen  till  then,  black 
and  mute,  shrouded  in  the  thick  night  mist.  It  seemed 
as  though  they  had  lain  long  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 


CHELKASH  155 

dragged  down  by  the  mighty  hands  of  the  tempest ;  and 
now  behold  they  had  been  drawn  up  by  the  power  and 
at  the  will  of  this  blue  fiery  sword,  bom  of  the  sea — 
had  been  drawn  up  to  gaze  upon  the  sky  and  all  that 
was  above  the  water.  Their  rigging  wrapped  about  the 
masts  and  looked  like  clinging  seaweeds,  that  had  risen 
from  the  depths  with  these  black  giants  caught  in  their 
snares.  And  it  rose  upward  again  from  the  sea,  this 
strange  blue  sword, — rose,  cleft  the  night  again,  and 
again  fell  down  in  another  direction.  And  again,  where 
it  lay,  there  rose  up  out  of  the  dark  the  outlines  of 
vessels,  unseen  before. 

Chelkash's  boat  stopped  and  rocked  on  the  water,  as 
though  in  uncertainty.  Gavrilo  lay  at  the  bottom,  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands,  until  Chelkash  poked  him 
with  an  oar  and  whispered  furiously,  but  softly: 

"Fool,  it's  the  customs  cruiser.  That's  the  electric 
light !  Get  up,  blockhead  !  Why,  they'll  turn  the  light 
on  us  in  a  minute!  You'll  be  the  ruin  of  yourself  and 
me !     Come !" 

And  at  last,  when  a  blow  from  the  sharp  end  of  the 
oar  struck  Gavrilo's  head  more  violently,  he  jumped 
up,  still  afraid  to  open  his  eyes,  sat  down  on  the  seat, 
and,  fumbling  for  the  oars,  rowed  the  boat  on. 

"Quietly  !  I'll  kill  you  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  There, 
quietly !  Ah,  you  fool,  damn  you !  What  are  you 
frightened  of?  Eh,  pig  face?  A  lantern  and  a  re- 
flector, that's  all  it  is.  Softly  with  the  oars !  Mawkish 
devil !  They  turn  the  reflector  this  way  and  that  way, 
and  light  up  the  sea,  so  as  to  see  if  there  are  folks 
like  you  and  me  afloat.     To  catch  smugglers,  they  do 


156  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

it.  They  won't  get  us,  they've  sailed  too  far  off. 
Don't  be  frightened,  lad,  they  won't  catch  us.     Now 

we "    Chelkash  looked  triumphantly  round.     "It's 

over,  we've  rowed  out  of  reach  !  Foo — o  !  Come,  you're 
in  luck." 

Gavrilo  sat  mute;  he  rowed,  and  breathing  hard, 
looked  askance  where  that  fiery  sword  still  rose  and 
sank.  He  was  utterly  unable  to  believe  Chelkash  that 
it  was  only  a  lantern  and  a  reflector.  The  cold,  blue 
brilliance,  that  cut  through  the  darkness  and  made  the 
sea  gleam  with  silver  light,  had  something  about  it  in- 
explicable, portentous,  and  Gavrilo  now  sank  into  a  sort 
of  hypnotized,  miserable  terror.  Some  vague  presenti- 
ment weighed  aching  on  his  breast.  He  rowed  auto- 
matically, with  pale  face,  huddled  up  as  though  expect- 
ing a  blow  from  above,  and  there  was  no  thought,  no 
desire  in  him  now,  he  was  empty  and  soulless.  The  emo- 
tions of  that  night  had  swallo.ved  up  at  last  all  that 
was  human  in  him. 

But  Chelkash  was  triumphant  again;  complete  suc- 
cess !  all  anxiety  at  an  end !  His  nerves,  accustomed 
to  strain,  relaxed,  returned  to  the  normal.  His  mus- 
taches twitched  voluptuously,  and  there  was  an  eager 
light  in  his  eyes.  He  felt  splendid,  whistled  through 
his  teeth,  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  the  damp  sea  air, 
looked  about  him  in  the  darkness,  and  laughed  good- 
naturedly  when  his  eyes  rested  on  Gavrilo. 

The  wind  blew  up  and  waked  the  sea  into  a  sudden 
play  of  fine  ripples.  The  clouds  had  become,  as  it  were, 
finer  and  more  transparent,  but  the  sky  was  still  cov- 
ered with  them.     The  wind,  though  still  light,  blew 


CHELKASH  157 

freely  over  the  sea,  yet  the  clouds  were  motionless  and 
seemed  plunged  in  some  gray,  dreary  dream. 

"Come,  mate,  pull  yourself  together!  it's  high  time! 
Why,  what  a  fellow  you  are;  as  though  all  the  breath 
had  been  knocked  out  of  your  skin,  and  only  a  bag 
of  bones  was  left !  My  dear  fellow !  It's  all  over  now ! 
Hey !" 

It  was  pleasant  to  Gavrilo  to  hear  a  human  voice, 
even  though  Chelkash  it  was  that  spoke. 
"I  hear,'*  he  said  softly. 

"Come,  then,  milksop.  Come,  you  sit  at  the  rudder 
and  I'll  take  the  oars,  you  must  be  tired !" 

Mechanically  Gavrilo  changed  places.  When  Chel- 
kash, as  he  changed  places  with  him,  glanced  into  his 
face,  and  noticed  that  he  was  staggering  on  his  shaking 
legs,  he  felt  still  sorrier  for  the  lad.  He  clapped  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

"Come,  come,  don't  be  scared !  You've  earned  a  good 
sum  for  it.  I'll  pay  you  richly,  mate.  Would  you  like 
twenty-five  roubles,  eh  ?" 

"I-— don't  want  anything.    Only  to  be  on  shore." 
Chelkash  waved  his  hand,  spat,  and  fell  to  rowing, 
flinging  the  oars  far  back  with  his  long  arms. 

The  sea  had  waked  up.  It  frolicked  in  little  waves, 
bringing  them  forth,  decking  them  with  a  fringe  of 
foam,  flinging  them  on  one  another,  and  breaking  them 
up  into  tiny  eddies.  The  foam,  melting,  hissed  and 
sighed,  and  everything  was  filled  with  the  musical  plash 
and  cadence.    The  darkness  seemed  more  alive. 

"Come,  tell  me,"  began  Chelkash,  "you'll  go  home 
to  the  yillage,  and  youll  marry  and  begin  digging  the 


158  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

earth  and  sowing  corn,  your  wife  will  bear  you  chil- 
dren, food  won't  be  too  plentiful,  and  so  you'll  grind 
away  all  your  life.  Well?  Is  there  such  sweetness  in 
that?" 

"Sweetness!"  Gavrilo  answered,  timid  and  tremb- 
ling, "what,  indeed?" 

The  wind  tore  a  rent  in  the  clouds  and  through  the 
gap  peeped  blue  bits  of  sky,  with  one  or  two  stars. 
Reflected  in  the  frolicking  sea,  these  stars  danced  on 
the  waves,  vanishing  and  shining  out  again. 

"More  to  the  right !"  said  Chelkash,  "Soon  we  shall 
be  there.  Well,  well !  It's  over.  A  haul  that's  worth 
it!  See  here.  One  night,  and  I've  made  five  hundred 
roubles !     Eh  ?     What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"Five  hundred?"  Gavrilo,  drawled,  incredulously,  but 
he  was  scared  at  once,  and  quickly  asked,  prodding  the 
bundle  in  the  boat  with  his  foot.  "Why,  what  sort 
of  thing  may  this  be?" 

"That's  silk.  A  costly  thing.  All  that,  if  one  sold 
it  for  its  value,  would  fetch  a  thousand.  But  I  sell 
cheap.    Is  that  smart  business?" 

"I  sa — ay  ?"  Gavrilo  drawled  dubiously.  "If  only  I'd 
all  that !"  he  sighed,  recalling  all  at  once  the  village,  his 
poor  little  bit  of  land,  his  poverty,  his  mother,  and  all 
that  was  so  far  away  and  so  near  his  heart;  for  the 
sake  of  which  he  had  gone  to  seek  work,  for  the  sake 
of  which  he  had  suffered  such  agonies  that  night.  A 
flood  of  memories  came  back  to  him  of  his  village,  run- 
ning down  the  steep  slope  to  the  river  and  losing  itself 
in  a  whole  forest  of  birch  trees,  willows,  and  mountain- 
ashes.    These  memories  breathed  something  warm  into 


CHELKASH  159 

him  and  cheered  him  up.    "Ah,  it  would  be  grand !"  he 
sighed  mournfully. 

"To  be  sure !  I  expect  you'd  bolt  home  by  the  rail- 
way !  And  wouldn't  the  girls  make  love  to  you  at  home, 
aye,  aye !  You  could  choose  which  you  liked !  You'd 
build  yourself  a  house.  No,  the  money,  maybe,  would 
hardly  be  enough  for  a  house." 

"That's  true — it  wouldn't  do  for  a  house.  Wood's 
dear  down  our  way." 

^'Well,  never  mind.  You'd  mend  up  the  old  one. 
How  about  a  horse?     Have  you  got  one?" 

"A  horse?  Yes,  I  have,  but  a  wretched  old  thing 
it  is." 

"Well,  then,  you'd  have  a  horse.  A  first-rate  horse ! 
A  cow — sheep — fowls  of  all  sorts.    Eh  ?" 

"Don't  talk  of  it !  If  I  only  could !  Oh,  Lord!  What 
a  life  I  should  have!" 

"Aye,  mate,  your  life  would  be  first-rate.  I  know 
something  about  such  things.  I  had  a  home  of  my  own 
once.    My  father  was  one  of  the  richest  in  the  village." 

Chelkash  rowed  slowly.  The  boat  danced  on  the 
waves  that  sportively  splashed  over  its  edge ;  it  scarcely 
moved  forward  on  the  dark  sea;  which  frolicked  more 
and  more  gayly.  The  two  men  were  dreaming,  rocked 
on  the  water,  and  pensively  looking  around  them.  Chel- 
kash had  turned  Gavrilo's  thoughts  to  his  village  with 
the  aim  of  encouraging  and  reassuring  him.  At  first 
he  had  talked  grinning  sceptically  to  himself  under 
his  mustaches,  but  afterward,  as  he  replied  to  his  com- 
panion and  reminded  him  of  the  joys  of  a  peasant's 
life,  which  he  had  so  long  ago  wearied  of,  had  forgotten. 


160  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

and  only  now  recalled,  he  was  gradually  carried  away, 
and,  instead  of  questioning  the  peasant  youth  about 
his  village  and  its  doings,  unconsciously  he  dropped  into 
describing  it  himself : 

"The  great  thing  in  the  peasant's  life,  mate,  is  its 
freedom!  You're  your  own  master.  You've  your  own 
home — worth  a  farthing,  maybe — but  it's  yours !  You've 
your  own  land — only  a  handful  the  whole  of  it — but  it's 
yours!  Hens  of  your  own,  eggs,  apples  of  your  own! 
You're  king  on  your  own  land !  And  then  the  regu- 
larity. You  get  up  in  the  morning,  you've  work  to  do, 
in  the  spring  one  sort,  in  the  summer  another,  in  the 
autumn,  in  the  winter — diJfferent  again.  Wherever  you 
go,  you've  home  to  come  back  to!  It's  snug!  There's 
peace  !  You're  a  king !  Aren't  you  really  ?"  Chelkash 
concluded  enthusiastically  his  long  reckoning  of  the 
peasant's  advantages  and  privileges,  forgetting,  some- 
how, his  duties. 

Gavrilo  looked  at  him  with  curiosity,  and  he,  too, 
warmed  to  the  subject.  During  this  conversation  he 
had  succeeded  in  forgetting  with  whom  he  had  to  deal, 
and  he  saw  in  his  companion  a  peasant  like  himself — 
cemented  to  the  soil  for  ever  by  the  sweat  of  generations, 
and  bound  to  it  by  the  recollections  of  childhood — who 
had  wilfully  broken  loose  from  it  and  from  its  cares, 
and  was  bearing  the  inevitable  punishment  for  this 
abandonment. 

"That's  true,  brother!  Ah,  how  true  it  is!  Look 
at  you,  now,  what  you've  become  away  from  the  land ! 
Aha!  The  land,  brother,  is  like  a  mother,  you  can't 
forget  it  for  long." 


CHELKASH  161 

Chelkash  awaked  from  his  reverie.  He  felt  that  seald- 
ing  irritation  in  his  chest,  which  always  came  as  soon 
as  his  pride,  the  pride  of  the  reckless  vagrant,  was 
touched  by  anyone,  and  especially  by  one  who  was  of 
no  value  in  his  eyes. 

"His  tongue's  set  wagging!"  he  said  savagely,  "you 
thought,  maybe,  I  said  all  that  in  earnest.    Never  fear !" 

"But,  you  strange  fellow !" — Gavrilo  began,  overawed 
again— "Was  I  speaking  of  you  ?  Why,  there's  lots  like 
you!  Ah,  what  a  lot  of  unlucky  people  among  the 
people !     Wanderers " 

"Take  the  oars,  you  sea-calf !"  Chelkash  commanded 
briefly,  for  some  reason  holding  back  a  whole  torrent 
of  furious  abuse,  which  surged  up  into  his  throat. 

They  changed  places  again,  and  Chelkash,  as  he  crept 
across  the  boat  to  the  stern,  felt  an  intense  desire  to 
give  Gavrilo  a  kick  that  would  send  him  flying  into 
the  water,  and  at  the  same  time  could  not  pluck  up 
courage  to  look  him  in  the  face. 

The  brief  conversation  dropped,  but  now  Gavrilo's 
silence  even  was  eloquent  of  the  country  to  Chelkash. 
He  recalled  the  past,  and  forgot  to  steer  the  boat, 
which  was  turned  by  the  current  and  floated  away  out 
to  sea.  The  waves  seemed  to  understand  that  this  boat 
had  missed  its  way,  and  played  lightly  with  it,  tossing 
it  higher  and  higher,  and  kindling  their  gay  blue  light 
under  its  oars.  While  before  Chelkash's  eyes  floated 
pictures  of  the  past,  the  far  past,  separated  from  the 
present  by  the  whole  barrier  of  eleven  years  of  vagrant 
life.  He  saw  himself  a  child,  his  village,  his  mother, 
a  red-cheeked  plump  woman,  with  kindly  gray  eyes, 


162  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

his  father,  a  red-bearded  giant  with  a  stern  face.  He 
saw  himself  betrothed,  and  saw  his  wife,  black-eyed 
Anfisa,  with  her  long  hair,  plump,  mild,  and  good- 
humored;  again  himself  a  handsome  soldier  in  the 
Guards;  again  his  father,  gray  now  and  bent  with  toil, 
and  his  mother  wrinkled  and  bowed  to  the  ground;  he 
saw,  too,  the  picture  of  his  welcome  in  the  village  when 
he  returned  from  the  service;  saw  how  proud  his  father 
was  before  all  the  village  of  his  Grigory,  the  mustached, 
stalwart  soldier,  so  smart  and  handsome.  Memory,  the 
scourge  of  the  unhappy,  gives  life  to  the  very  stones 
of  the  past,  and  even  into  the  poison  drunk  in  old  days 
pours  drops  of  honey,  so  as  to  confound  a  man  with  his 
mistakes  and,  by  making  him  love  the  past,  rob  him  of 
hope  for  the  future. 

Chelkash  felt  a  rush  of  the  softening,  caressing  air 
of  home,  bringing  back  to  him  the  tender  words  of  his 
mother  and  the  weighty  utterances  of  the  venerable  peas- 
ant, his  father ;  many  a  forgotten  sound  and  many  a  lush 
smell  of  mother-earth,  freshly  thawing,  freshly 
ploughed,  and  freshly  covered  with  the  emerald  silk 
of  the  corn.  And  he  felt  crushed,  lost,  pitiful,  and 
solitary,  torn  up  and  cast  out  for  ever  from  that  life 
which  had  distilled  the  very  blood  that  flowed  in  his 
veins. 

"Hey !  but  where  are  we  going  ?"  Gavrilo  asked  sud- 
denly. 

Chelkash  started  and  looked  round  with  the  uneasy 
look  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

"Ah,  the  devil's  taken  the  boat!  No  matter.  Row 
a  bit  harder.    We'll  be  there  directly." 


CHELKASH  163 

"You  were  dreaming  ?"  Gavrilo  inquired,  smiling. 

Chelkash  looked  searchingly  at  him.  The  youth  had 
completely  regained  his  composure ;  he  was  calm,  cheer- 
ful and  even  seemed  somehow  triumphant.  He  was 
very  young,  all  his  life  lay  before  him.  And  he  knew 
nothing.  That  was  bad.  Maybe  the  earth  would  keep 
hold  of  him.  As  these  thoughts  flashed  through  his 
head,  Chelkash  felt  still  more  mournful,  and  to  Gavrilo 
he  jerked  out  sullenly : 

"I'm  tired.    And  it  rocks,  too." 

"It  does  rock,  that's  true.  But  now,  I  suppose,  we 
shan't  get  caught  with  this?"  Gavrilo  shoved  the  bale 
with  his  foot. 

"No.  You  can  be  easy.  I  shall  hand  it  over  directly 
and  get  the  money.     Oh,  yes !" 

"Five  hundred?" 

"Not  less,  I  dare  say." 

"I  say — that's  a  sum !  If  I,  poor  wretch,  had  that  I 
Ah,  I'd  have  a  fine  time  with  it," 

"On  your  land?" 

"To  be  sure !    Why,  I*d  be  oi! " 

And  Gravilo  floated  off  into  day  dreams,  Chelkash 
seemed  crushed.  His  mustaches  drooped,  his  right  side 
was  soaked  by  the  splashing  of  the  waves,  his  eyes 
looked  sunken  and  had  lost  their  brightness.  He  was  a 
pitiable  and  depressed  figure.  All  that  bird-of-prey  look 
in  his  figure  seemed  somehow  eclipsed  under  a  humili- 
ated moodiness,  that  showed  itself  in  the  very  folds  of 
his  dirty  shirt. 

"I'm  tired  out,  too — regularly  done  up." 

*^e'll  be  there  directly.    See  over  yonder." 


164     CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Chelkash  turned  the  boat  sharply,  and  steered  it  to- 
ward something  black  that  stood  up  out  of  the  water. 

The  sky  was  again  all  covered  with  clouds,  and  fine, 
warm  rain  had  come  on,  pattering  gayly  on  the  crests 
of  the  waves. 

"Stop  !  easy  !"  commanded  Chelkosh. 

The  boat's  nose  knocked  against  the  hull  of  the  vessel. 

"Are  they  asleep,  the  devils?"  grumbled  Chelkash, 
catching  with  his  boat-hook  on  to  some  ropes  that  hung 
over  the  ship's  side.  "The  ladder's  not  down.  And 
this  rain,  too.  As  if  it  couldn't  have  come  before !  Hi, 
you  spongeos.     Hi !  Hi !" 

"Is  that  Selkash?"  they  heard  a  soft  purring  voice 
say  overhead. 

"Come,  let  down  the  ladder." 

"Kalimera,  Selkash." 

"Let  down  the  ladder,  you  smutty  devil !"  yelled  Chel- 
kash. 

"Ah,  what  a  rage  he's  come  in  to-day.     Ahoy !" 

"Get  up,  Gavrilo !"  Chelkash  said  to  his  companion. 

In  a  moment  they  were  on  the  deck,  where  three 
dark-bearded  figures,  eagerly  chattering  together,  in  a 
strange  staccato  tongue  looked  over  the  side  into  Chel- 
kash's  boat.  The  fourth  clad  in  a  long  gown,  went  up 
to  him  and  pressed  his  hand  without  speaking,  then 
looked  suspiciously  round  at  Gavrilo. 

"Get  the  money  ready  for  me  by  the  morning," 
Chelkash  said  to  him  shortly.  "And  now  I'll  go  to 
sleep.    Gavrilo,  come  along !     Are  you  hungry  ?" 

"I'm  sleepy,"  answered  Gavrilo,  and  five  minutes  later 
he  was  snoring  in  the  dirty  hold  of  the  vessel,  while 


CHELKASH  165 

Chelkash,  sitting  beside  him,  tried  on  somebody's  boots. 
Dreamily  spitting  on  one  side,  he  whistled  angrily  and 
mournfully  between  his  teeth.  Then  he  stretched  him- 
self out  beside  Gavrilo,  and  pulling  the  boots  off  his  feet 
again  and  putting  his  arms  under  his  head,  he  fell  to 
gazing  intently  at  the  deck,  and  pulling  his  mustaches. 

The  vessel  rocked  softly  on  the  frolicking  water,  there 
was  a  fretful  creaking  of  wood  somewhere,  the  rain  pat- 
tered softly  on  the  deck,  and  the  waves  splashed  on  the 
ship's  side.  Everything  was  melancholy  and  sounded 
like  the  lullaby  of  a  mother,  who  has  no  hope  of  her 
child's  happiness.    And  Chelkash  fell  asleep. 

CHAPTER  III 

He  was  the  first  to  wake,  he  looked  round  him  un- 
easily, but  at  once  regained  his  self-possession  and  stared 
at  Gavrilo  who  was  still  asleep.  He  was  sweetly  snor- 
ing, and  in  his  sleep  smiled  all  over  his  childish,  sun- 
burned healthy  face.  Chelkash  sighed  and  climbed  up 
the  narrow  rope-ladder.  Through  the  port-hole  he  saw 
a  leaden  strip  of  sky.  It  was  daylight,  but  a  dreary 
autumn  grayness. 

Chelkash  came  back  two  hours  later.  His  face  was 
red,  his  mustaches  were  jauntily  curled,  a  smile  of  good- 
humored  gayety  beamed  on  his  lips.  He  was  wearing 
a  pair  of  stout  high  boots,  a  short  jacket,  and  leather 
breeches,  and  he  looked  like  a  sportsman.  His  whole 
costume  was  worn,  but  strong,  and  very  becoming  to 
him,  making  him  look  broader,  covering  up  his  angular- 
ity, and  giving  him  a  military  air. 


166  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"Hi,  little  calf,  get  up  !"    He  gave  Gavrilo  a  kick. 

Gavrilo  started  up,  and,  not  recognizing  him,  stared 
at  him  in  alarm  with  dull  eyes.    Chelkash  chuckled. 

"Well,  you  do  look "    Gavrilo  brought  out  with  a 

broad  grin  at  last.     "You're  quite  a  gentleman !" 

"We  soon  change.  But,  I  say,  you're  easily  scared ! 
aye  !  How  many  times  were  you  ready  to  die  last  night  ? 
eh?  tell  me!" 

"Well,  but  just  think,  it's  the  first  time  I've  ever 
been  on  such  a  job !  Why  one  may  lose  one's  soul  for 
all  one's  life !" 

"Well,  would  you  go  again?    Eh?" 

"Again?  Well — that — how  can  I  say?  For  what 
inducement?     That's  the  point!" 

"Well,  if  it  were  for  two  rainbows?" 

"Two  hundred  roubles,  you  mean?    Well — I  might." 

"But  I  say !    What  about  your  soul  ?" 

"Oh,  well — maybe  one  wouldn't  lose  it!"  Gavrilo 
smiled.  "One  mightn't — and  it  would  make  a  man  of 
one  for  all  one's  life." 

Chelkash  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"All  right !  that's  enough  joking.  Let's  row  to  land. 
Get  ready!" 

"Why,  I've  nothing  to  do  I  I'm  ready." 

And  soon  they  were  in  the  boat  again,  Chelkash  at 
the  rudder,  Gavrilo  at  the  oars.  Above  them  the  sky 
was  gray,  with  clouds  stretched  evenly  across  it.  The 
muddy  green  sea  played  with  their  boat,  tossing  it 
noisily  on  the  waves  that  sportively  flimg  bright  salt 
drops  into  it.  Far  ahead  from  the  boat's  prow  could 
be  seen  the  yellow  streak  of  the  sandy  shore,  while  from 


CHELKASH  167 

the  stem  there  stretched  away  into  the  distance  the  free, 
gambolh'ng  sea,  all  furrowed  over  with  racing  flocks 
of  billows,  decked  here  and  there  with  a  narrow  fringe 
of  foam.  Far  away  they  could  see  numbers  of  vessels, 
rocking  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  away  on  the  left  a 
whole  forest  of  masts  and  the  white  fronts  of  the  houses 
of  the  town.  From  that  direction  there  floated  across 
the  sea  a  dull  resounding  roar,  that  mingled  with  the 
splash  of  the  waves  into  a  full  rich  music.  And  over 
all  was  flung  a  delicate  veil  of  ash-colored  mist,  that 
made  things  seem  far  from  one  another. 

"Ah,  there'll  be  a  pretty  dance  by  evening !"  said 
Chelkash,  nodding  his  head  at  the  sea. 

"A  storm?"  queried  Gavrilo,  working  vigorously  at 
the  waves  with  his  oars.  He  was  already  wet  through 
from  head  to  foot  with  the  splashing  the  wind  blew  on 
him  from  the  sea. 

/'Aye,  aye !"  Chelkash  assented. 
. "  Gavrilo  looked  inquisitively  at  him,  and  his  eyes  ex- 
pressed  unmistakeable   expectation   of   something. 

"Well,  how  much  did  they  give  you?"  he  asked,  at 
last,  seeing  that  Chelkash  was  not  going  to  begin  the 
conversation. 

*Tjook !"  said  Chelkash,  holding  out  to  Gavrilo  some- 
thing he  had  pulled  out  of  his  pocket. 

Gavrilo  saw  the  rainbow-colored  notes  and  everything 
danced  in  brilliant  rainbow  tints  before  his  eyes. 

"I  say  !  Why,  I  thought  you  were  bragging !  That's 
— how  much  ?" 

"Five  hundred  and  forty !    A  smart  job  !" 

"Smart,  yes!"  muttered  Gavrilo,  with  greedy  eyes. 


168  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

watching  the  five  hundred  and  forty  roubles  as  they 
were  put  back  again  in  his  pocket.  "Well,  I  never! 
What  a  lot  of  money !"  and  he  sighed  dejectedly. 

"We'll  have  a  jolly  good  spree,  my  lad !"  Chelkash 
cried  ecstatically.  "Eh,  we've  enough  to.  Never  fear, 
mate,  I'll  give  you  your  share.  I'll  give  you  forty,  eh? 
Satisfied  ?    If  you  like,  I'll  give  it  you  now !" 

"If — you  don't  mind.    Well?    I  wouldn't  say  no!" 

Gavrilo  was  trembling  all  over  with  suspense  and 
some  other  acute  feeling  that  dragged  at  his  heart. 

"Ha — ha — ha!  Oh,  you  devil's  doll!  *I'd  not  say 
no !'  Take  it,  mate,  please !  I  beg  you,  indeed,  take  it ! 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  such  a  lot  of  money !  You 
must  help  me  out,  take  some,  there !" 

Chelkash  held  out  some  red  notes  to  Gavrilo.  He 
took  them  with  a  shaking  hand,  let  go  the  oars,  and 
began  stuffing  them  away  in  his  bosom,  greedily  screw- 
ing up  his  eyes  and  drawing  in  his  breath  noisily,  as 
though  he  had  drimk  something  hot.  Chelkash  watched 
him  with  an  ironical  smile.  Gavrilo  took  up  the  oars 
again  and  rowed  nervously,  hurriedly,  keeping  his  eyes 
down  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  something.  His  shoul- 
ders and  his  ears  were  twitching. 

"You're  greedy.  That's  bad.  But,  of  course,  you're 
a  peasant,"  Chelkash  said  musingly. 

"But  see  what  one  can  do  with  money !"  cried  Gav- 
rilo, suddenly  breaking  into  passionate  excitement,  and 
jerkily,  hurriedly,  as  though  chasing  his  thoughts  and 
catching  his  words  as  they  flew,  he  began  to  speak  of 
life  in  the  village  with  money  and  without  money.  Re- 
spect, plenty,  independence  gladness! 


CHELKASH  169 

Chelkash  heard  him  attentively,  with  a  serious  face 
and  eyes  filled  with  some  dreamy  thought.  At  times 
he  smiled  a  smile  of  content.  "Here  we  are  V  Chelkash 
cried  at  last,  interrupting  Gavrilo. 

A  wave  caught  up  the  boat  and  neatly  drove  it  onto 
the  sand. 

*^Come,  mate,  now  it's  over.  We  must  drag  the  boat 
up  farther,  so  that  it  shouldn't  get  washed  away.  They'll 
come  and  fetch  it.  Well,  we  must  say  good-bye !  It's 
eight  versts  from  here  to  the  town.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?     Coming  back  to  the  town,  eh?" 

Chelkash's  face  was  radiant  with  a  good-humoredly  sly 
smile,  and  altogether  he  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
thought  of  something  very  pleasant  for  himself  and  a 
surprise  to  Gavrilo.  Thrusting  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
he  rustled  the  notes  there. 

"No — I — am  not  coming.     I "   Gavrilo   gasped, 

and  seemed  choking  with  something.  Within  him  there 
was  raging  a  whole  storm  of  desires,  of  words,  of  feel- 
ings, that  swallowed  up  one  another  and  scorched  him 
as  with  fire. 

Chelkash  looked  at  him  in  perplexity. 

''What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked. 

''Why "    But  Gavrilo's  face  flushed,  then  turned 

gray,  and  he  moved  irresolutely,  as  though  he  were  half 
longing  to  throw  himself  on  Chelkash,  or  half  torn  by 
some  desire,  the  attainment  of  which  was  hard  for  him. 

Chelkash  felt  ill  at  ease  at  the  sight  of  such  excite- 
ment in  this  lad.  He  wondered  what  form  it  would 
take. 

Gavrilo  began  laughing  strangely,  a  laugh  that  was 


170  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

like  a  sob.  His  head  was  downcast,  the  expression  of 
his  face  Chelkash  could  not  see;  Gavrilo's  ears  only 
were  dimly  visible,  and  they  turned  red  and  then  pale. 

"Well,  damn  you !"  Chelkash  waved  his  hand,  "Have 
you  fallen  in  love  with  me,  or  what  ?  One  might  think 
you  were  a  girl !  Or  is  parting  from  me  so  upsetting  ? 
Hey,  suckling !    Tell  me,  what's  wrong  ?  or  else  I'm  off !" 

*'You're  going !"  Gavrilo  cried  aloud. 

The  sandy  waste  of  the  shore  seemed  to  start  at  his 
cry,  and  the  yellow  ridges  of  sand  washed  by  the  sea- 
waves  seemed  quivering.  Chelkash  started  too.  All  at 
once  Gavrilo  tore  himself  from  where  he  stood,  flung 
himself  at  Chelkash's  feet,  threw  his  arms  round  them, 
and  drew  them  toward  him.  Chelkash  staggered;  he 
sat  heavily  down  on  the  sand,  and  grinding  his  teeth, 
brandished  his  long  arm  and  clenched  fist  in  the  air. 
But  before  he  had  time  to  strike  he  was  pulled  up  by 
Gavrilo's  shame-faced  and  supplicating  whisper : 

"Friend  !  Give  me — that  money !  Give  it  me,  for 
Christ's  sake !  What  is  it  to  you  ?  Why  in  one  night — 
in  only  one  night — while  it  would  take  me  a  year — 
Give  it  me — I  will  pray  for  you !  Continually — in  three 
churches — for  the  salvation  of  your  soul !  Why  you'd 
cast  it  to  the  winds — while  I'd  put  it  into  the  land.  0, 
give  it  me !  Why,  what  does  it  mean  to  you  ?  Did  it 
cost  you  much  ?  One  night — and  you're  rich !  Do  a 
deed  of  mercy !  You're  a  lost  man,  you  see — you 
couldn't  make  your  way — while  I — oh,  give  it  to  me !" 

Chelkash,  dismayed,  amazed,  and  wrathful,  sat  on  the 
sand,  thrown  backward  with  his  hands  supporting  him; 
he  sat  there  in  silence,  rolling  his  eyes  frightfully  at 


CHELKASH  171 

the  young  peasant,  who,  ducking  his  head  down  at  his 
knees,  whispered  his  prayer  to  him  in  gasps.  He  shoved 
him  away  at  last,  jumped  up  to  his  feet,  and  thrusting 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  flung  the  rainbow  notes  at, 
Gavrilo. 

"There,  cur !  Swallow  them  V  he  roared,  shaking 
with  excitement,  with  intense  pity  and  hatred  of  this 
greedy  slave.  And  as  he  flung  him  the  money,  he  felt 
himself  a  hero.  There  was  a  reckless  gleam  in  his  eyes, 
an  heroic  air  about  his  whole  person. 

"I'd  meant  to  give  you  more,  of  myself.  I  felt  sorry 
for  you  yesterday.  I  thought  of  the  village.  I  thought : 
come,  I'll  help  the  lad.  I  was  waiting  to  see  what  you'd 
do,  whether  you'd  beg  or  not.  While  you ! — Ah,  you  rag ! 
you  beggar !  To  be  able — to  torment  oneself  so — for 
money !  You  fool.  Greedy  devils !  They're  beside 
themselves — sell  themselves  for  five  kopecks !  eh  ?" 

"Dear  friend  !  Christ  have  mercy  on  you  !  Why,  what 
have  I  now  !  thousands !  !  I'm  a  rich  man  !"  Gavrilo 
shrilled  in  ecstasy,  all  trembling,  as  he  stowed  away 
the  notes  in  his  bosom.  "Ah,  you  good  man !  Never 
will  I  forget  you  !  Never !  And  my  wife  and  my  chil- 
dren— I'll  bid  them  pray  for  you  !" 

Chelkash  listened  to  his  shrieks  and  wails  of  ecstasy, 
looked  at  his  radiant  face  that  was  contorted  by  greedy 
joy,  and  felt  that  he,  thief  and  rake  as  he  was,  cast  out 
from  everything  in  life,  would  never  be  so  covetous,  so 
base,  would  never  so  forget  himself.  Never  would  he 
be  like  that !  And  this  thought  and  feeling,  filling  him 
with  a  sense  of  his  own  independence  and  reckless  dar' 
ing,  kept  him  beside  Gavrilo  on  the  desolate  sea  shore. 


172  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"You've  made  me  happy !"  shrieked  Gavrilo,  and 
snatching  Chelkash's  hand,  he  pressed  it  to  his  face. 

Chelkash  did  not  speak ;  he  grinned  like  a  woK.  Gav- 
rilo still  went  on  pouring  out  his  heart: 

'TDo  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  about?  As  we 
rowed  here — I  saw — the  money — thinks  I — I'll  give  it 
him — you — with  the  oar — one  blow  !  the  money's  mine, 
and  into  the  sea  with  him — you,  that  is — eh!  Who'll 
miss  him  ?  said  I.  And  if  they  do  find  him,  they  won't 
be  inquisitive  how — and  who  it  was  killed  him.  He's 
not  a  man,  thinks  I,  that  there'd  be  much  fuss  about! 
He's  of  no  use  in  the  world  !  Who'd  stand  up  for  him  ? 
No,  indeed — eh  ?" 

"Give  the  money  here !"  growled  Chelkash,  clutching 
Gavrilo  by  the  throat. 

Gavrilo  struggled  away  once,  twice.  Chelkash's  other 
arm  twisted  like  a  snake  about  him — there  was  the 
sound  of  a  shirt  tearing — and  Gavrilo  lay  on  the  sand, 
with  his  eyes  staring  wildly,  his  fingers  clutching  at 
the  air  and  his  legs  waving.  Chelkash,  erect,  frigid,  ra- 
pacious-looking, grinned  maliciously,  laughed  a  broken, 
biting  laugh,  and  his  mustaches  twitched  nervously  in 
his  sharp,  angular  face. 

Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  been  so  cruelly  wounded, 
and  never  had  he  felt  so  vindictive. 

"Well,  are  you  happy  now  ?"  he  asked  Gavrilo  through 
his  laughter,  and  turning  his  back  on  him  he  walked 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  town.  But  he  had  hardly 
taken  two  steps  when  Gavrilo,  crouched  like  a  cat  on 
one  knee,  and  with  a  wide  sweep  of  his  arm,  flung  ? 
round  stone  at  him,  viciously,  shouting : 


CHELKASH  17a 

«0— one  \" 

Chelkash  uttered  a  cry,  clapped  his  hands  to  the  nape 
of  his  neck,  staggered  forward,  turned  round  to  Gav- 
rilo,  and  fell  on  his  face  on  the  sand.  Gavrilo's  heart 
failed  him  as  he  watched  him.  He  saw  him  stir  one 
leg,  try  to  lift  his  head,  and  then  stretch  out,  quivering 
like  a  bowsting.  Then  Gavrilo  rushed  fleeing  away 
into  the  distance,  where  a  shaggy  black  cloud  hung  over 
the  foggy  steppe,  and  it  was  dark.  The  waves  whispered, 
racing  up  the  sand,  melting  into  it  and  racing  back. 
The  foam  hissed  and  the  spray  floated  in  the  air. 

It  began  to  rain,  at  first  slightly,  but  soon  a  steady, 
heavy  downpour  was  falling  in  streams  from  the  sky, 
weaving  a  regular  network  of  fine  threads  of  water, 
that  at  once  hid  the  steppe  and  the  sea.  Gavrilo  van- 
ished behind  it.  For  a  long  while  nothing  was  to  be  seen, 
but  the  rain  and  the  long  figure  of  the  man  stretched  on 
the  sand  by  the  sea.  But  suddenly  Gavrilo  ran  back 
out  of  the  rain.  Like  a  bird  he  flew  up  to  Chelkash, 
dropped  down  beside  him,  and  began  to  turn  him  over 
on  the  ground.  His  hand  dipped  into  a  warm,  red 
stickiness.  He  shuddered  and  staggered  back  with  a 
face  pale  and  distraught. 

'brother,  get  up !"  he  whispered  through  the  patter 
of  the  rain  into  Chelkash's  ear. 

Revived  by  the  water  on  his  face,  Chelkash  came  to 
himself,  and  pushed  Gavrilo  away,  saying  hoarsely : 

"Get— away !" 

"Brother!  Forgive  me — it  was  the  devil  tempted 
me,"  Gavrilo  whispered,  faltering,  as  he  kissed  Chel- 
kash's hand. 


174  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"Go  along.     Get  away  \"  he  croaked. 

"Take  the  sin  from  off  my  soul !  Brother !  Forgive 
me!" 

"For — go  away,  do !  Go  to  the  devil !"  Chelkash 
screamed  suddenly,  and  he  sat  up  on  the  sand.  His 
face  was  pale  and  angry,  his  eyes  were  glazed,  and  kept 
closing,  as  though  he  were  very  sleepy,  '^hat  more — 
do  you  want?  You've  done — your  job — and  go  away! 
Be  off !"  And  he  tried  to  kick  Gavrilo  away,  as  he 
knelt,  overwhelmed,  beside  him,  but  he  could  not,  and 
would  have  rolled  over  again  if  Gavrilo  had  not  held 
him  up,  putting  his  arms  round  his  shoulders.  Chel- 
kash's  face  was  now  on  a  level  with  Gavrilo's.  Both 
were  pale,  piteous,  and  terrible-looking. 

"Tfoo !"  Chelkash  spat  into  the  wide,  open  eyes  of  his 
companion. 

Meekly  Gavrilo  wiped  his  face  with  his  sleeve,  and 
murmured : 

"Do  as  you  will.  I  won't  say  a  word.  For  Christ's 
sake,  forgive  me !" 

"Snivelling  idiot!  Even  stealing's  more  than  you 
can  do !"  Chelkash  cried  scornfully,  tearing  a  piece  off 
his  shirt  under  his  jacket,  and  without  a  word,  clench- 
ing his  teeth  now  and  then,  he  began  binding  up  his 
head.  "Did  you  take  the  notes?"  he  filtered  through 
his  teeth. 

"I  didn't  touch  them,  brother !  I  didn't  want  them ! 
there's  ill-luck  from  them !" 

Chelkash  thrust  his  hand  into  his  jacket  pocket,  drew 
out  a  bundle  of  notes,  put  one  rainbow-colored  note  back 
in  his  pocket,  and  handed  all  the  rest  to  Gavrilo. 


CHELKASH  175 

"Take  them  and  go!" 

"I  won't  take  them,  brother.    I  can't !    Forgive  me  1" 

"T-take  them,  I  say !"  bellowed  Chelkash,  glaring  hor- 
ribly. 

"Forgive  me !  Then  I'll  take  them,"  said  Gavrilo, 
timidly,  and  he  fell  at  Chelkash's  feet  on  the  damp  sand, 
that  was  being  liberally  drenched  by  the  rain. 

"You  lie,  you'll  take  them,  sniveller !"  Chelkash  said 
with  conviction,  and  with  an  effort,  pulling  Gavrilo's 
head  up  by  the  hair,  he  thrust  the  notes  in  his  face. 

"Take  them !  take  them !  You  didn't  do  your  30b 
for  nothing,  I  suppose.  Take  it,  don't  be  frightened! 
Don't  be  ashamed  of  having  nearly  killed  a  man !  For 
people  like  me,  no  one  will  make  much  inquiry.  They'll 
say  thank  you,  indeed,  when  they  know  of  it.  There, 
take  it!  No  one  will  ever  know  what  you've  done,  and 
it  deserves  a  reward.     Come,  now!" 

Gavrilo  saw  that  Chelkash  was  laughing,  and  he  felt 
relieved.    He  crushed  the  notes  up  tight  in  his  hand. 

"Brother!  You  forgive  me?  Won't  you?  Eh?"  he 
asked  tearfully. 

"Brother  of  mine !"  Chelkash  mimicked  him  as  he 
got,  reeling,  on  to  his  legs.  *^hat  for  ?  There's  noth- 
ing to  forgive.  To-day  you  do  for  me,  to-morrow  I'll  do 
for  you." 

"Oh,  brother,  brother!"  Gavrilo  sighed  mournfully, 
shaking  his  head. 

Chelkash  stood  facing  him,  he  smiled  strangely,  and 
the  rag  on  his  head,  growing  gradually  redder,  began 
to  look  like  a  Turkish  fez. 

The  rain  streamed  in  bucketsful.     The  sea  moaned 


176  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

with  a  hollow  sound,  and  the  waves  beat  on  the  shore, 
lashing  furiously  and  wrathf ully  against  it. 

The  two  men  were  silent. 

"Come,  good-bye !"  Chelkash  said,  coldly  and  sarcasti- 
cally. 

He  reeled,  his  legs  shook,  and  he  held  his  head  queerly, 
as  though  he  were  afraid  of  losing  it. 

"Forgive  me,  brother!"  Gavrilo  besought  him  once 
more. 

"All  right!"  Chelkash  answered,  coldly,  setting  off 
on  his  way. 

He  walked  away,  staggering,  and  still  holding  his 
head  in  his  left  hand,  while  he  slowly  tugged  at  his 
brown  mustache  with  the  right. 

Gavrilo  looked  after  him  a  long  while,  till  the  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  rain,  which  still  poured  down  in  fine, 
countless  streams,  and  wrapped  everything  in  an  im- 
penetrable steel-gray  mist. 

Then  Gavrilo  took  off  his  soaked  cap,  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  looked  at  the  notes  crushed  up  in  his 
hand,  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  thrust  them  into  his 
bosom,  and  with  long,  firm  strides  went  along  the  shore, 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  that  Chelkash  had  taken. 

The  sea  howled,  flinging  heavy,  breaking  billows  on 
the  sand  of  the  shore,  and  dashing  them  into  spray,  the 
rain  lashed  the  water  and  the  earth,  the  wind  blustered. 
All  the  air  was  full  of  roaring,  howling,  moaning. 
Neither  distance  nor  sky  could  be  seen  through  the 
rain. 

Soon  the  rain  and  the  spray  had  washed  away  the  red 
patch  on  the  spot  where   Chelkash  had  lain,  washed 


CHELKASH  177 

away  the  traces  of  Chelkash  and  the  peasant  lad  on  the 
sandy  beach.  And  no  trace  was  left  on  the  seashore  of 
the  little  drama  that  had  been  played  out  between  two 
men. 


MY    FELLOW-TRAVELLER 

(the  story  of  a  journey) 

I  MET  him  in  the  harbor  of  Odessa.  For  three  suc- 
cessive days  his  square,  strongly-built  figure  attracted 
my  attention.  His  face — of  a  Caucasian  type — was 
framed  in  a  handsome  beard.  He  haunted  me.  I  saw 
him  standing  for  hours  together  on  the  stone  quay^ 
with  the  handle  of  his  walking  stick  in  his  mouth,  star- 
ing down  vacantly,  with  his  black  almond-shaped  eyes, 
into  the  muddy  waters  of  the  harbor.  Ten  times  a  day, 
he  would  pass  me  by  with  the  gait  of  a  careless  lounger. 
Whom  could  he  be  ?  I  began  to  watch  him.  As  if  anx- 
ious to  excite  my  curiosity,  he  seemed  to  cross  my  path 
more  and  more  often.  In  the  end,  his  fashionably-cut 
light  check  suit,  his  black  hat,  like  that  of  an  artist,  his 
indolent  lounge,  and  even  his  listless,  bored  glance  grew 
quite  familiar  to  me.  His  presence  was  utterly  imac- 
countable,  here  in  the  harbor,  where  the  whistling  of  the 
steamers  and  engines,  the  clanking  of  chains,  the  shout- 
ing of  workmen,  all  the  hurried  maddening  bustle  of  a 
port,  dominated  one's  sensations,  and  deadened  one's 
nerves  and  brain.  Everyone  else  about  the  port  was  en- 
meshed in  its  immense  complex  machinery,  which  de- 
manded incessant  vigilance  and  endless  toil.    Everyone 

178 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  179 

here  was  busy,  loading  and  unloading  either  steamers 
or  railway  trucks.  Everyone  was  tired  and  careworn. 
Everyone  was  hurrying  to  and  fro,  shouting  or  cursing, 
covered  with  dirt  and  sweat.  In  the  midst  of  the  toil 
and  bustle  this  singular  person,  with  his  air  of  deadly 
boredom,  strolled  about  deliberately,  heedless  of  every- 
thing. 

At  last,  on  the  fourth  day,  I  came  across  him  during 
the  dinner  hour,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  find  out 
at  any  cost  who  he  might  be.  I  seated  myself  with 
my  bread  and  water-melon  not  far  from  him,  and  be- 
gan to  eat,  scrutinizing  him  and  devising  some  suit- 
able pretext  for  beginning  a  conversation  with  him. 

There  he  stood,  leaning  against  a  pile  of  tea  boxes, 
glancing  aimlessly  around,  and  drumming  with  his  fin- 
gers on  his  walking  stick,  as  if  it  were  a  flute.  It  was 
difficult  for  me,  a  man  dressed  like  a  tramp,  with  a 
porter's  knot  over  my  shoulders,  and  grimy  with  coal 
dust,  to  open  up  a  conversation  with  such  a  dandy. 
But  to  my  astonishment  I  noticed  that  he  never  took 
his  eyes  off  me,  and  that  an  unpleasant,  greedy,  animal 
light  shone  in  those  eyes.  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  object  of  my  curiosity  must  be  hungry,  and 
after  glancing  rapidly  round,  I  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice:  "Are  you  hungry?" 

He  started,  and  with  a  famished  grin  showed  rows 
of  strong  sound  teeth.  And  he,  too,  looked  suspiciously 
round.  We  were  quite  unobserved.  Then  I  handed  him 
half  my  melon  and  a  chunk  of  wheaten  bread.  He 
snatched  it  all  from  my  hand,  and  disappeared,  squat- 
ting behind  a  pile  of  goods.    His  head  peeped  out  from 


180  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

time  to  time;  his  hat  was  pushed  back  from  his  fore- 
head, showing  his  dark  moist  brow.  His  face  wore  a 
broad  smile,  and  for  some  unknown  reason  he  kept 
winking  at  me,  never  for  a  moment  ceasing  to  chew. 

Making  him  a  sign  to  wait  a  moment,  I  went  away 
to  buy  meat,  brought  it,  gave  it  to  him,  and  stood  by 
the  boxes,  thus  completely  shielding  my  poor  dandy 
from  outsiders'  eyes.  He  was  still  eating  ravenously, 
and  constantly  looking  round  as  if  afraid  someone  might 
snatch  his  food  away;  but  after  I  returned,  he  began 
to  eat  more  calmly,  though  still  so  fast  and  so  greedily 
that  it  caused  me  pain  to  watch  this  famished  man. 
And  I  turned  my  back  on  him. 

"Thanks !  Many  thanks  indeed !"  He  patted  my 
shoulder,  snatched  my  hand,  pressed  it,  and  shook  it 
heartily. 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  telling  me  who  he  was. 
He  was  a  Georgian  prince,  by  name  Shakro  Ptadze, 
and  was  the  only  son  of  a  rich  landowner  of  Kutais 
in  the  Caucasus.  He  had  held  a  position  as  clerk  at 
one  of  the  railway  stations  in  his  own  country,  and 
during  that  time  had  lived  with  a  friend.  But  one 
fine  day  the  friend  disappeared,  carrying  off  all  the 
prince's  money  and  valuables.  Shakro  determined  to 
track  and  follow  him,  and  having  heard  by  chance  that 
his  late  friend  had  taken  a  ticket  to  Batoum,  he  set 
off  there.  But  in  Batoum  he  found  that  his  friend  had 
gone  on  to  Odessa.  Then  Prince  Shakro  borrowed  a 
passport  of  another  friend — a  hair-dresser — of  the  same 
age  as  himself,  though  the  features  and  distinguishing 
marks  noted  therein  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  his 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  181 

own.  Arrived  at  Odessa,  he  informed  the  police  of  his 
loss,  and  they  promised  to  investigate  the  matter.  He 
had  been  waiting  for  a  fortnight,  had  consumed  all  his 
money,  and  for  the  last  four  days  had  not  eaten  a 
morsel. 

I  listened  to  his  story,  plentifully  embellished  as  it 
was  with  oaths.  He  gave  me  the  impression  of  being 
sincere.  I  looked  at  him,  I  believed  him,  and  felt  sorry 
for  the  lad.  He  was  nothing  more — he  was  nineteen, 
but  from  his  naivety  one  might  have  taken  him  for 
yoxmger.  Again  and  again,  and  with  deep  indignation, 
he  returned  to  the  thought  of  his  close  friendship  for  a 
man  who  had  turned  out  to  be  a  thief,  and  had  stolen 
property  of  such  value  that  Shakro's  stern  old  father 
would  certainly  stab  his  son  with  a  dagger  if  the  prop- 
erty were  not  recovered. 

I  thought  that  if  I  didn't  help  this  young  fellow, 
the  greedy  town  would  suck  him  down.  I  knew  through 
what  trifling  circumstances  the  army  of  tramps  is  re- 
cruited, and  there  seemed  every  possibility  of  Prince 
Shakro  drifting  into  this  respectable,  but  not  respected 
class.  I  felt  a  wish  to  help  him.  My  earnings  were  not 
sufficient  to  buy  him  a  ticket  to  Batoum,  so  I  visited 
some  of  the  railway  offices,  and  begged  a  free  ticket  for 
him.  I  produced  weighty  arguments  in  favor  of  assist- 
ing the  young  fellow,  with  the  result  of  getting  refusals 
just  as  weighty.  I  advised  Shakro  to  apply  to  the 
Head  of  the  Police  of  the  town ;  this  made  him  uneasy, 
and  he  declined  to  go  there.  Why  not?  He  explained 
that  he  had  not  paid  for  his  rooms  at  an  hotel  where 
he  had  been  staying,  and  that  when  requested  to  do  so, 


182  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

he  had  struck  some  one.  This  made  him  anxious  to 
conceal  his  identity,  for  he  supposed,  and  with  reason, 
that  if  the  police  found  him  out  he  would  have  to  ac- 
count for  the  fact  of  his  not  paying  his  bill,  and  for 
having  struck  the  man.  Besides,  he  could  not  remember 
exactly  if  he  had  struck  one  or  two  blows,  or  more. 

The  position  was  growing  more  complicated. 

I  resolved  to  work  till  I  had  earned  a  sum  sufficient 
to  carry  him  back  to  Batoum.  But  alas !  I  soon  real- 
ized that  my  plan  could  not  be  carried  out  quickly — 
by  no  means  quickly — for  my  half-starved  prince  ate 
as  much  as  three  men,  and  more.  At  that  time  there 
was  a  great  influx  of  peasants  into  the  Crimea  from 
the  famine-stricken  northern  parts  of  Russia,  and  this 
had  caused  a  great  reduction  in  the  wages  of  the  work- 
ers at  the  docks.  I  succeeded  in  earning  only  eighty 
kopecks  a  day,  and  our  food  cost  us  sixty  kopecks. 

I  had  no  intention  of  staying  much  longer  at  Odessa, 
for  I  had  meant,  some  time  before  I  came  across  the 
prince,  to  go  on  to  the  Crimea.  I  therefore  suggested 
to  him  the  following  plan :  that  we  should  travel  to- 
gether on  foot  to  the  Crimea,  and  there  I  would  find 
him  another  companion,  who  would  continue  the  jour- 
ney with  him  as  far  as  Tiflis;  if  I  should  fail  in  find- 
ing him  a  fellow-traveler,  I  promised  to  go  with  him 
myself. 

The  prince  glanced  sadly  at  his  elegant  boots,  his  hat, 
his  trousers,  while  he  smoothed  and  patted  his  coat. 
He  thought  a  Httle  time,  sighed  frequently,  and  at  last 
agreed.  So  we  started  off  from  Odessa  to  Tiflis  on 
foot. 


MY  FELLOW-TKAVELLER  183 

CHAPTER  II. 

By  the  time  we  had  arrived  at  Kherson  I  knew  some- 
thing of  my  companion.  He  was  a  naively  savage,  ex- 
ceedingly undeveloped  young  fellow;  gay  when  he  was 
well  fed,  dejected  when  he  was  hungry,  like  a  strong, 
easy-tempered  animal.  On  the  road  he  gave  me  ac- 
counts of  life  in  the  Caucasus,  and  told  me  much  about 
the  landowners;  about  their  amusements,  and  the  way 
they  treated  the  peasantry.  His  stories  were  interest- 
ing, and  had  a  beauty  of  their  own;  but  they  produced 
on  my  mind  a  most  unfavorable  impression  of  the  nar- 
rator himself. 

To  give  one  instance.  There  was  at  one  time  a  rich 
prince,  who  had  invited  many  friends  to  a  feast.  They 
partook  freely  of  all  kinds  of  Caucasian  wines  and 
meats,  and  after  the  feast  the  prince  led  his  guests  to 
his  stables.  They  saddled  the  horses,  the  prince  picked 
out  the  handsomest,  and  rode  him  into  the  fields.  That 
was  a  fiery  steed !  The  guests  praised  his  form  and 
paces.  Once  more  the  prince  started  to  ride  round  the 
field,  when  at  the  same  moment  a  peasant  appeared, 
riding  a  splendid  white  horse,  and  overtook  the  prince 
— overtook  him  and  laughed  proudly !  The  prince  was 
put  to  shame  before  his  guests !  He  knit  his  brow, 
and  beckoned  the  peasant  to  approach;  then,  with  a 
blow  of  his  dagger,  he  severed  the  man's  head  from  his 
body.  Drawing  his  pistol,  he  shot  the  white  horse  in 
the  ear.  He  then  delivered  himself  up  to  justice,  and 
was  condemned  to  penal  servitude. 

Through  the  whole  story  there  rang  a  note  of  pity  for 


184  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

the  prince.  I  endeavored  to  make  Shakro  understand 
that  his  pity  was  misplaced. 

"There  are  not  so  many  princes,"  he  remarked  didac- 
tically, "as  there  are  peasants.  It  cannot  be  just  to 
condemn  a  prince  for  a  peasant.  What,  after  all  is  a 
peasant  ?  he  is  no  better  than  this  \"  He  took  up  a 
handful  of  soil,  and  added :  "A  prince  is  a  star !" 

We  had  a  dispute  over  this  question  and  he  got 
angry.  When  angry,  he  showed  his  teeth  like  a  wolf, 
and  his  features  seemed  to  grow  sharp  and  set. 

"Maxime,  you  know  nothing  about  life  in  the  Cau- 
casus ;  so  you  had  better  hold  your  tongue !"  he  shouted. 

All  my  arguments  were  powerless  to  shatter  his  naive 
convictions.  What  was  clear  to  me  seemed  absurd  to 
him.  My  arguments  never  reached  his  brain;  but  if 
ever  I  did  succeed  in  showing  him  that  my  opinions 
were  weightier  and  of  more  value  than  his  own,  he 
would  simply  say : 

"Then  go  and  live  in  the  Caucasus,  and  you  will 
see  that  I  am  right.  What  every  one  does  must  be 
right.  Why  am  I  to  believe  what  you  say?  You  are 
the  only  one  who  says  such  things  are  wrong;  while 
thousands  say  they  are  right!" 

Then  I  was  silent,  feeling  that  words  were  of  no  use 
in  this  case;  only  facts  could  confute  a  man,  who  be- 
lieved that  life,  just  as  it  is,  is  entirely  just  and  lawful. 
I  was  silent,  while  he  was  triumphant,  for  he  firmly 
believed  that  he  knew  life  and  considered  his  knowl- 
edge of  it  something  unshakeable,  stable  and  perfect. 
My  silence  seemed  to  him  to  give  him  a  right  to  strike 
a  fuller  note  in  his  stories  of  Caucasian  life — a  life  full 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  185 

of  so  much  wild  beauty,  so  much  fire  and  originality. 
These  stories,  though  full  of  interest  and  attraction  for 
me,  continued  to  provoke  my  indignation  and  disgust 
by  their  cruelty,  by  the  worship  of  wealth  and  of 
strength  which  they  displayed,  and  the  absence  of  that 
morality  which  is  said  to  be  binding  on  all  men  alike. 

Once  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  what  Christ  had  taught. 

"Yes,  of  course  I  do!''  he  replied,  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

But  after  I  had  examined  him  on  this  point,  it  turned 
out  that  all  he  knew  was,  that  there  had  once  been  a 
certain  Christ,  who.  protested  against  the  laws  of  the 
Jews,  and  that  for  this  protest  he  was  crucified  by  the 
Jews.  But  being  a  God,  he  did  not  die  on  the  cross, 
but  ascended  into  heaven,  and  gave  the  world  a  new 
law. 

"What  law  was  that  ?"  I  inquired. 

He  glanced  at  me  with  ironical  incredulity,  and 
asked:  "Are  you  a  Christian?  Well,  so  am  I  a  Chris- 
tian. Nearly  all  the  people  in  the  world  are  Chris- 
tians. Well,  why  do  you  ask  then?  You  know  the 
way  they  all  live ;  they  follow  the  law  of  Christ !" 

I  grew  excited,  and  began  eagerly  to  tell  him  about 
Christ's  life.  At  first  he  listened  attentively;  but  this 
attention  did  not  last  long,  and  he  began  to  yawn. 

I  understood  that  it  was  useless  appealing  to  his 
heart,  and  I  once  more  addressed  myself  to  his  head, 
and  talked  to  him  of  the  advantages  of  mutual  help 
and  of  knowledge,  the  benefits  of  obedience  to  the  law, 
speaking  of  the  policy  of  morality  and  nothing  more. 

"He  who  is  strong  is  a  law  to  himself !     He  has  no 


186  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

need  of  learning ;  even  blind,  he'll  find  his  way/'  Prince 
Shakro  replied,  languidly. 

Yes,  he  was  always  true  to  himself.  This  made  me 
feel  a  respect  for  him ;  but  he  was  savage  and  cruel,  and 
sometimes  I  felt  a  spark  of  hatred  for  Prince  Shakro. 
Still,  I  had  not  lost  all  hope  of  finding  some  point  of 
contact  with  him,  some  common  ground  on  which  we 
could  meet,  and  understand  one  another. 

I  began  to  use  simpler  language  with  the  prince,  and 
tried  to  put  myself  mentally  on  a  level  with  him.  He 
noticed  these  attempts  of  mine,  but  evidently  mistaking 
them  for  an  acknowledgment  on  my  part  of  his  super- 
iority, adopted  a  still  more  patronizing  tone  in  talking 
to  me.  I  suffered,  as  the  conviction  came  home  to  me, 
that  all  my  arguments  were  shattered  against  the  stone 
wall  of  his  conception  of  life. 

CHAPTER  III. 

Soon  we  had  left  Perekop  behind  us.  "We  were  ap- 
proaching the  Crimean  mountains.  For  the  last  two 
days  we  had  seen  them  against  the  horizon.  The  moun- 
tains were  pale  blue,  and  looked  like  soft  heaps  of 
billowy  clouds.  I  admired  them  in  the  distance,  and 
I  dreamed  of  the  southern  shore  of  the  Crimea.  The 
prince  hummed  his  Georgian  songs  and  was  gloomy. 
We  had  spent  all  our  money,  and  there  was  no  chance 
of  earning  anything  in  these  parts. 

We  bent  our  steps  toward  Feodosia,  where  a  new 
harbor  was  in  course  of  construction.  The  prince  said 
that  he  would  work,  too,  and  that  when  we  had  earned 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  187 

enough  money  we  would  take  a  boat  together  to  Ba- 
toum.  In  Batoum,  he  said,  he  had  many  friends,  and 
with  their  assistance  he  could  easily  get  me  a  situation — 
as  a  house-porter  or  a  watchman.  He  clapped  me  pat- 
ronizingly on  the  back,  and  remarked,  indulgently,  with 
a  peculiar  click  of  his  tongue : 

"I'll  arrange  it  for  you !  You  shall  have  such  a  life ! 
tse,  tse !  You  will  have  plenty  of  wine,  there  will  be 
as  much  mutton  as  you  can  eat.  You  can  marry  a 
fat  Georgian  girl ;  tse,  tse,  tse !  She  will  cook  you 
Georgian  dishes;  give  you  children — many_,  many  chil- 
dren !     tse,  tse,  tse  !" 

This  constant  repetition  of  "tse,  tse,  tse !"  surprised 
me  at  first;  then  it  began  to  irritate  me,  and,  at  last, 
it  reduced  me  to  a  melancholy  frenzy.  In  Russia  we 
use  this  sound  to  call  pigs,  but  in  the  Caucasus  it  seems 
to  be  an  expression  of  delight  and  of  regret,  of  pleas- 
ure and  of  sadness. 

Shakro's  smart  suit  already  began  to  look  shabby; 
his  elegant  boots  had  split  in  many  places.  His  cane 
and  hat  had  been  sold  in  Kherson.  To  replace  the  hat 
he  had  bought  an  old  uniform  cap  of  a .  railway  clerk. 
When  he  put  this  cap  on  for  the  first  time,  he  cocked 
it  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  asked :  "Does  it  suit  me  ? 
Do  I  look  nice  ?" 

CHAPTER  IV. 

At  last  we  reached  the  Crimea.     We  had  left  Sim- 
pheropol  behind  us,  and  were  moving  towards  Jalta. 
I  was  walking  along  in  silent  ectasy,  marvelling  at 


188  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

the  beauty  of  this  strip  of  land,  caressed  on  all  sides  by 
the  sea. 

The  prince  sighed,  complained,  and,  casting  dejected 
glances  about  him,  tried  filling  his  empty  stomach  with 
wild  berries.  His  knowledge  of  their  nutritive  qualities 
was  extremely  limited,  and  his  experiments  were  not 
always  successful.  Often  he  would  remark,  ill-humor- 
edly: 

"If  I'm  turned  inside  out  with  eating  this  stuff,  how 
am  I  to  go  any  farther  ?    And  what's  to  be  done  then  ?" 

"We  had  no  chance  of  earning  anything,  neither  had 
we  a  penny  left  to  buy  a  bit  of  bread.  All  we  had  to 
live  on  was  fruit,  and  our  hopes  for  the  future. 

The  prince  began  to  reproach  me  with  want  of  enter- 
prise and  laziness — with  "gaping  about,"  as  he  expressed 
it.  Altogether,  he  was  beginning  to  bore  me ;  but  what 
most  tried  my  patience  were  his  fabulous  accounts  of 
his  appetite.  According  to  these  accounts,  after  a 
hearty  breakfast  at  noon  of  roast  lamb,  and  three  bottles 
of  wine,  he  could  easily,  at  his  two  o'clock  dinner,  dis- 
pose of  three  plates  of  soup,  a  pot  of  pilave,  a  dish  of 
shasleek,  and  various  other  Caucasian  dishes,  washed 
down  abundantly  with  wine.  For  whole  days  he  would 
talk  of  nothing  but  his  gastronomic  tastes  and  knowl- 
edge: and  while  thus  talking,  he  would  smack  his  lips, 
his  eyes  would  glow,  he  would  show  his  teeth,  and  grind 
them  together;  would  suck  in  and  swallow  the  saliva 
that  came  dripping  from  his  eloquent  lips.  Watching 
him  at  these  moments,  I  conceived  for  him  a  deep  feel- 
ing of  disgust,  which  I  found  difficult  to  conceal. 

Near  Jalta  I  obtained  a  job  at  clearing  away  the 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLEK  189 

dead  branches  in  an  orchard.  I  was  paid  fifty  kopecks 
in  advance,  and  laid  out  the  whole  of  this  money  on 
bread  and  meat.  No  sooner  had  I  returned  with  my 
purchase,  than  the  gardener  called  me  away  to  my  work. 
I  had  to  leave  my  store  of  food  with  Shakro,  who,  un- 
der the  pretext  of  a  headache,  had  declined  to  work. 
When  I  returned  in  an  hour's  time,  I  had  to  acknowl- 
edge that  Shakro's  stories  of  his  appetite  were  all  too 
true.  Not  a  crumb  was  left  of  all  the  food  I  had  bought ! 
His  action  was  anything  but  a  friendly  one,  but  I  let 
it  pass.  Later  on  I  had  to  acknowledge  to  myself  the 
mistake  I  then  made. 

My  silence  did  not  pass  unnoticed  by  Shakro,  who 
profited  by  it  in  his  own  fashion.  His  behavior  toward 
me  from  that  time  grew  more  and  more  shameless.  I 
worked,  while  he  ate  and  drank  and  urged  me  on,  re- 
fusing, on  various  pretexts,  to  do  any  work  himself.  I 
am  no  follower  of  Tolstoi.  I  felt  amused  and  sad  as 
I  saw  this  strong  healthy  lad  watching  me  with  greedy 
eyes  when  I  returned  from  a  hard  day's  labor,  and 
found  him  waiting  for  me  in  some  shady  nook.  But  it 
was  even  more  mortifying  to  see  that  he'  was  sneering 
at  me  for  working.  He  sneered  at  me  because  he  had 
learned  to  beg,  and  because  he  looked  on  me  as  a  lifeless 
dummy.  When  he  first  started  begging,  he  was  ashamed 
for  me  to  see  him,  but  he  soon  got  over  this ;  and  as  soon 
as  we  came  to  some  Tartar  village,  he  would  openly 
prepare  for  business.  Leaning  heavily  on  his  stick,  he 
would  drag  one  foot  after  him,  as  though  he  were  lame. 
He  knew  quite  well  that  the  Tartars  were  mean,  and 
never  give  alms  to  anyone  who  is  strong  and  well.     I 


190  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

argued  with  him,  Euid  tried  to  convince  him  of  the 
shamefuhiess  of  such  a  course  of  action.  He  only 
sneered. 

"I  cannot  work,"  was  all  he  would  reply. 

He  did  not  get  much  by  his  begging. 

My  health  at  that  time  began  to  give  way.  Every 
day  the  journey  seemed  to  grow  more  trying.  Every 
day  our  relations  toward  each  other  grew  more  strained. 
Shakro,  now,  had  begun  shamelessly  to  insist  that  I 
should  provide  him  with  food. 

"It  was  you,"  he  would  say,  "who  brought  me  out 
here,  all  this  way;  so  you  must  look  after  me.  I  never 
walked  so  far  in  my  life  before.  I  should  never  have 
undertaken  such  a  journey  on  foot.  It  may  kill  me  1 
You  are  tormenting  me;  you  are  crushing  the  life  out 
of  me !  Think  what  it  would  be  if  I  were  to  die !  My 
mother  would  weep;  my  father  would  weep;  all  my 
friends  would  weep !  Just  think  of  all  the  tears  that 
would  be  shed !" 

I  listened  to  such  speeches,  but  was  not  angered  by 
them.  A  strange  thought  began  to  stir  in  my  mind,  a 
thought  that  made  me  bear  with  him  patiently.  Many 
a  time  as  he  lay  asleep  by  my  side  I  would  watch  his 
calm,  quiet  face,  and  think  to  myself,  as  though  groping 
after  some  idea: 

"He  is  my  fellow-traveller — my  fellow-traveller." 

At  times,  a  dim  thought  would  strike  me,  that  after 
all  Shakro  was  only  right  in  claiming  so  freely,  and 
with  so  much  assurance,  my  help  and  my  care.  It 
proved  that  he  possessed  a  strong  will.  He  was  en- 
slaving me,  and  I  submitted,  and  studied  his  character, 


MY  FELLOW-TKAVELLER  191 

following  each  quivering  movement  of  the  muscles  of 
his  face,  trying  to  foresee  when  and  at  what  point  he 
would  stop  in  this  process  of  exploiting  another  person's 
individuality. 

Shakro  was  in  excellent  spirits;  he  sang,  and  slept, 
and  jeered  at  me,  when  he  felt  so  disposed.  Sometimes 
we  separated  for  two  or  three  days.  I  would  leave 
him  some  bread  and  some  money  (if  we  had  any),  and 
would  tell  him  where  to  meet  me  again.  At  parting, 
he  would  follow  me  with  a  suspicious,  angry  look  in  his 
eyes.  But  when  we  met  again  he  welcomed  me  with 
gleeful  triumph.  He  always  said,  laughing :  "I  thought 
you  had  run  off  alone,  and  left  me !  ha !  ha !  ha  !'*  I 
brought  him  food,  and  told  him  of  the  beautiful  places 
I  had  seen ;  and  once  even,  speaking  of  Bakhtchesarai, 
I  told  him  about  our  Eussian  poet  Pushkin,  and  recited 
some  of  his  verses.    But  this  produced  no  effect  on  him. 

"Oh,  indeed;  that  is  poetry,  is  it?  Well,  songs  are 
better  than  poetry,  I  knew  a  Georgian  once !  He  was 
the  man  to  sing !  He  sang  so  loud — so  loud — one  would 
have  thought  his  throat  was  being  cut  ?  ,  He  finished 
by  murdering  an  inn-keeper,  and  was  banished  to 
Siberia.'' 

Every  time  I  returned,  I  sank  lower  and  lower  in 
the  opinion  of  Shakro,  until  he  could  not  conceal  his 
contempt  for  me.  Our  position  was  anything  but  pleas- 
ant. I  was  seldom  lucky  enough  to  earn  more  than 
a  rouble  or  a  rouble  and  a-half  a  week,  and  I  need  not 
say  that  was  not  nearly  suflficient  to  feed  us  both.  The 
few  bits  of  money  that  Shakro  gained  by  begging  made 
but  little  difference  in  the  state  of  our  affairs,  for  his 


192  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

belly  was  a  bottomless  pit,  which  swallowed  everything 
that  fell  in  its  way ;  grapes,  melons,  salt  fish,  bread,  or 
dried  fruit;  and  as  time  went  on  he  seemed  to  need 
ever  more  and  more  food. 

Shakro  began  to  urge  me  to  hasten  our  departure 
from  the  Crimea,  not  unreasonably  pointing  out  that 
autumn  would  soon  be  here  and  we  had  a  long  way 
still  to  go.  I  agreed  with  this  view,  and,  besides,  I  had 
by  then  seen  all  that  part  of  the  Crimea.  So  we  pushed 
on  again  toward  Feodosia,  hoping  to  earn  something 
there.  Once  more  our  diet  was  reduced  to  fruit,  and 
to  hopes  for  the  future. 

Poor  future !  Such  a  load  of  hopes  is  cast  on  it  by 
men,  that  it  loses  almost  all  its  charms  by  the  time  it 
becomes  the  present ! 

When  within  some  twenty  versts  of  Aloushta  we 
stopped,  as  usual,  for  our  night's  rest.  I  had  persuaded 
Shakro  to  keep  to  the  sea  coast;  it  was  a  longer  way 
round,  but  I  longed  to  breathe  the  fresh  sea  breezes. 
We  made  a  fire,  and  lay  down  beside  it.  The  night  was 
a  glorious  one.  The  dark  green  sea  splashed  against 
the  rocks  below;  above  us  spread  the  majestic  calm  of 
the  blue  heavens,  and  around  us  sweet-scented  trees  and 
bushes  rustled  softly.  The  moon  was  rising,  and  the 
delicate  tracery  of  the  shadows,  thrown  by  the  tall,  green 
plane  trees,  crept  over  the  stones.  Somewhere  near  a 
bird  sang ;  its  note  was  clear  and  bold.  Its  silvery  trill 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  air  that  was  full  of  the  soft, 
caressing  splash  of  the  waves.  The  silence  that  fol- 
lowed was  broken  by  the  nervous  chirp  of  a  cricket. 
Tile  fire  burned  bright,  and  its  flames  looked  like  a  large 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  193 

bunch  of  red  and  yellow  flowers.  Flickering  shadows 
danced  gaily  around  us,  as  if  exulting  in  their  power 
of  movement,  in  contrast  with  the  creeping  advance  of 
the  moon  shadows.  From  time  to  time  strange  sounds 
floated  through  the  air.  The  broad  expanse  of  sea  ho- 
rizon seemed  lost  in  immensity.  In  the  sky  overhead 
not  a  cloud  was  visible.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  lying  on 
the  earth's  extreme  edge,  gazing  into  infinite  space, 
that  riddle  that  haunts  the  soul.  The  majestic  beauty 
of  the  night  intoxicated  me,  while  my  whole  being 
seemed  absorbed  in  the  harmony  of  its  colors,  its  sounds, 
and  its  scents. 

A  feeling  of  awe  filled  my  soul,  a  feeling  as  if  some- 
thing great  were  very  near  to  me.  My  heart  throbbed 
with  the  joy  of  life. 

Suddenly,  Shakro  burst  into  loud  laughter,  "Ha ! 
ha !  ha !  How  stupid  your  face  does  look !  You've  a 
regular  sheep's  head  !     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 

I  started  as  though  it  were  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder. 
But  it  was  worse.  It  was  laughable,  yes,  but  oh,  how 
mortifying  it  was ! 

He,  Shakro,  laughed  till  the  tears  came.  I  was  ready 
to  cry,  too,  but  from  quite  a  different  reason.  A  lump 
rose  in  my  throat,  and  I  could  not  speak.  I  gazed  at 
him  with  wild  eyes,  and  this  only  increased  his  mirth. 
He  rolled  on  the  ground,  holding  his  sides.  As  for 
me,  I  could  not  get  over  the  insult — for  a  bitter  insult 
it  was.  Those — few,  I  hope — who  will  understand  it, 
from  having  had  a  similar  experience  in  their  lives,  will 
recall  all  the  bitterness  it  left  in  their  souls. 

"Leave  off !"  I  shouted,  furiously. 


194  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

He  was  startled  and  frightened,  but  he  could  not  at 
once  restrain  his  laughter.  His  eyes  rolled,  and  his 
cheeks  swelled  as  if  about  to  burst.  All  at  once  he 
went  off  into  a  guffaw  again.    Then  I  rose  and  left  him. 

For  some  time  I  wandered  about,  heedless  and  almost 
unconscious  of  all  that  surrounded  me,  my  whole  soul 
consumed  with  the  bitter  pang  of  loneliness  and  of  hu- 
miliation. Mentally,  I  had  been  embracing  all  nature. 
Silently,  with  the  passionate  love  any  man  must  feel  if 
he  has  a  little  of  the  poet  in  him,  I  was  loving  and 
adoring  her.  And  now  it  was  nature  that,  under  the 
form  of  Shakro,  was  mocking  me  for  my  passion,  I 
might  have  gone  still  further  in  my  accusations  against 
nature,  against  Shakro,  and  against  the  whole  of  life, 
had  I  not  been  stopped  by  approaching  footsteps. 

"Do  not  be  angry,*'  said  Shakro  in  a  contrite  voice, 
touching  my  shoulder  lightly,  "Were  you  praying? 
I  didn't  know  it,  for  I  never  pray  myself," 

He  spoke  timidly,  like  a  naughty  child.  In  spite  of 
my  excitement,  I  could  not  help  noticing  his  pitiful 
face  ludicrously  distorted  by  embarrassment  and 
alarm, 

"I  will  never  interfere  with  you  again.  Truly ! 
Never !"  He  shook  his  head  emphatically,  "I  know 
you  are  a  quiet  fellow.  You  work  hard,  and  do  not 
force  me  to  do  the  same,  I  used  to  wonder  why;  but, 
of  course,  it's  because  you  are  foolish  as  a  sheep !" 

That  was  his  way  of  consoling  me !  That  was  his 
idea  of  asking  for  forgiveness !  After  such  consolation, 
and  such  excuses,  what  was  there  left  for  me  to  do  but 
iorgive,  not  only  for  the  past,  but  for  the  future ! 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  195 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  sound  asleep,  while  I  sat 
beside  him,  watching  him.  During  sleep,  every  one,  be 
he  ever  so  strong,  looks  helpless  and  weak,  but  Shakro 
looked  a  pitiful  creature.  His  thick,  half-parted  lips, 
and  his  arched  eyebrows,  gave  to  his  face  a  childish  look 
of  timidity  and  of  wonder.  His  breathing  was  quiel 
and  regular,  though  at  times  he  moved  restlessly,  and 
muttered  rapidly  in  the  Georgian  language;  the  words 
seemed  those  of  entreaty.  All  around  us  reigned  that 
intense  calm  which  always  makes  one  somehow  expec- 
tant, and  which,  were  it  to  last  long,  might  drive  one 
mad  by  its  absolute  stillness  and  the  absence  of  sound 
— the  vivid  shadow  of  motion,  for  sound  and  motion 
seem  ever  allied. 

The  soft  splash  of  the  waves  did  not  reach  us.  We 
were  resting  in  a  hollow  gorge  that  was  overgrown  with 
bushes,  and  looked  like  the  shaggy  mouth  of  sorne  petri- 
fied monster.  I  still  watched  Shakro,  and  thought: 
"This  is  my  fellow  traveler.  I  might  leave  him  here, 
but  I  could  never  get  away  from  him,  or  the  like  of 
him ;  their  name  is  legion.  This  is  my  life  companion. 
He  will  leave  me  only  at  death's  door." 

CHAPTER  V. 

At  Feodosia  we  were  sorely  disappointed.  All  th> 
work  there  was  already  apportioned  among  Turks, 
Greeks,  Georgians,  trar^ps,  and  Russian  peasants  from 
Poltava  and  Smolensk,  who  had  all  arrived  before  us. 
Already,  more  than  four  hundred  men  had,  like  our- 
selves, come  in  the  hopes  of  finding  employment;  and 


196  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

were  also,  like  ourselves,  destined  to  remain  silent  spec- 
tators of  the  busy  worl'  going  on  in  the  port.  In  the 
town,  and  outside  also,  we  met  groups  of  famished  peas- 
ants, gray  and  careworn,  wandering  miserably  about. 
Of  tramps  there  were  also  plenty,  roving  around  like 
hungry  wolves. 

At  first  these  tramps  took  us  for  famished  peasants, 
and  tried  to  make  what  they  could  out  of  us.  They 
tore  from  Shakro's  back  the  overcoat  which  I  had  bought 
him,  and  they  snatched  my  knapsack  from  my  shoulders. 
After  several  discussions,  they  recognized  our  intellect- 
ual and  social  kinship  with  them;  and  they  returned 
us  all  our  belongings.  Tramps  are  men  of  honor,  though 
they  may  be  great  rogues. 

Seeing  that  there  was  no  work  for  us,  and  that  the 
construction  of  the  harbor  was  going  on  very  well  with- 
out our  help,  we  moved  on  resentfully  toward  Kertch. 

My  friend  kept  his  word,  and  never  again  molested 
me;  but  he  was  terribly  famished,  his  countenance  was 
as  black  as  thunder.  He  ground  his  teeth  together,  as 
does  a  wolf,  whenever  he  saw  someone  else  eating;  and 
he  terrified  me  by  the  marvellous  accounts  of  the  quan- 
tity of  food  he  was  prepared  to  consume.  Of  late  he 
had  begun  to  talk  about  women,  at  first  only  casually, 
with  sighs  of  regret.  But  by  degrees  he  came  to  talk 
more  and  more  often  on  the  subject,  with  the  lascivious 
smile  of  "an  Oriental."  At  length  his  state  became 
such,  that  he  could  not  see  any  person  of  the  other  sex, 
whatever  her  age  or  appearance,  without  letting  fall 
some  obscene  remark  about  her  looks  or  her  figure.  He 
spoke  of  women  so  freely,  with  so  wide  a  knowledge 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  197 

of  the  sex;  and  his  point  of  view,  when  discussing  wo- 
men, was  so  astoundingly  direct,  that  his  conversation 
filled  me  with  disgust.  Once  I  tried  to  prove  to  him 
that  a  woman  was  a  being  in  no  way  inferior  to  him. 
I  saw  that  he  was  not  merely  mortified  by  my  words, 
but  was  on  the  point  of  violently  resenting  them  as  a 
personal  insult.  So  I  postponed  my  arguments  till  such 
time  as  Shakro  should  be  well  fed  once  more. 

In  order  to  shorten  our  road  to  Kertch  we  left  the 
coast,  and  tramped  across  the  steppes.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  my  knapsack  but  a  three-pound  loaf  of  barley 
bread,  which  we  had  bought  of  a  Tartar  with  our  last 
five-kopeck  piece.  Owing  to  this  painful  circumstance, 
when,  at  last  we  reached  Kertch,  we  could  hardly  move 
our  legs,  so  seeking  therefore  work  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Shakro's  attempts  to  beg  by  the  way  had  proved 
unsuccessful;  everywhere  he  had  received  the  curt  re- 
fusal :  "There  are  so  many  of  you." 

This  was  only  too  true,  for  the  number  of  people, 
who,  during  that  bitter  year,  were  in  want  of  bread, 
was  appalling.  The  famished  peasants  roamed  about 
the  country  in  groups,  from  three  to  twenty  or  more 
together.  Some  carried  babies  in  their  arms;  some  had 
young  children  dragging  by  the  hand.  The  children 
looked  almost  transparent,  with  a  bluish  skin,  under 
which  flowed,  instead  of  pure  blood,  some  sort  of  thick 
unwholesome  fluid.  The  way  their  small  sharp  bones 
projected  from  under  the  wasted  flesh  spoke  more  elo- 
quently than  could  any  words.  The  sight  of  them  made 
one's  heart  ache,  while  a  constant  intolerable  pain 
seemed  to  gnaw  one's  very  soul. 


198  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

These  hungry,  naked,  worn-out  children  did  not  even 
cry.  But  they  looked  about  them  with  sharp  eyes  that 
flashed  greedily  whenever  they  saw  a  garden,  or  a  field, 
from  which  the  corn  had  not  yet  been  carried.  Then 
they  would  glance  sadly  at  their  elders,  as  if  asking 
**Why  was  I  brought  into  this  world  ?" 

Sometimes  they  had  a  cart  driven  by  a  dried-up  skele- 
ton of  an  old  woman,  and  full  of  children,  whose  little 
heads  peeped  out,  gazing  with  mournful  eyes  in  ex- 
pressive silence  at  the  new  land  into  which  they  had 
been  brought.  The  rough,  bony  horse  dragged  itself 
along,  shaking  its  head  and  its  tumbled  mane  wearily 
from  side  to  side. 

Following  the  cart,  or  clustering  round  it,  came  the 
grown-up  people,  with  heads  sunk  low  on  their  breasts, 
and  arms  hanging  helplessly  at  their  sides.  Their  dim, 
vacant  eyes  had  not  even  the  feverish  glitter  of  hunger, 
but  were  full  of  an  indescribable,  impressive  moumful- 
ness.  Cast  out  of  their  homes  by  misfortune,  these  pro- 
cessions of  peasants  moved  silently,  slowly,  stealthily 
through  the  strange  land,  as  if  afraid  that  their  pres- 
ence might  disturb  the  peace  of  the  more  fortunate  in- 
habitants. Many  and  many  a  time  we  came  across  these 
processions,  and  every  time  they  reminded  me  of  a 
funeral  without  the  corpse. 

Sometimes,  when  they  overtook  us,  or  when  we  passed 
them,  they  would  timidly  and  quietly  ask  us:  "Is  it 
much  farther  to  the  village?"  And  when  we  answered, 
they  would  sigh,  and  gaze  dumbly  at  us.  My  travelling 
companion  hated  these  irrepressible  rivals  for  charity. 

In  spite  of  all  the  difificulties  of  the  journey,  and  the 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER'  199 

scantiness  of  our  food,  Shakro,  with  his  rich  vitality, 
could  not  acquire  the  lean,  hungry  look,  of  which  the 
starving  peasants  could  boast  in  its  fullest  perfection. 
Whenever  he  caught  sight,  in  the  distance,  of  these 
latter,  he  would  exclaim :  "Pouh  !  pouh  !  pouh.  Here 
they  are  again !  What  are  they  roaming  about  for  ? 
They  seem  to  be  always  on  the  move!  Is  Russia  too 
small  for  them?  I  can't  understand  what  they  want  I 
Russians  are  a  stupid  sort  of  people  !" 

When  I  had  explained  to  him  the  reason  of  the 
"stupid"  Russians  coming  to  the  Crimea,  he  shook  his 
head  incredulously,  and  remarked :  "I  don't  understand ! 
It's  nonsense !  We  never  have  such  'stupid'  things 
happening  in  Georgia !" 

We  arrived  in  Kertch,  as  I  have  said,  exhausted  and 
hungry.  It  was  late.  We  had  to  spend  the  night  under 
a  bridge,  which  joined  the  harbor  to  the  mainland.  We 
thought  it  better  to  conceal  ourselves,  as  we  had  been 
told  that  just  before  our  arrival  all  the  tramps  had  been 
driven  out  of  the  town.  This  made  us  feel  anxious, 
lest  we  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  police ;  besides 
•Shakro  had  only  a  false  passport,  and  if  that  fact  be- 
came known,  it  might  lead  to  serious  complications  in 
our  future. 

All  night  long  the  spray  from  the  sea  splashed  over 
us.  At  dawn  we  left  our  hiding  place,  wet  to  the  skin 
and  bitterly  cold.  All  day  we  wandered  about  the 
shore.  All  we  succeeded  in  earning  was  a  silver  piece 
of  the  value  of  ten  kopecks,  which  was  given  me  by  the 
wife  of  a  priest,  in  return  for  helping  her  to  carry  home 
a  bag  of  melons  from  the  bazaar. 


200  CKEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

A  narrow  belt  of  water  divided  us  from  Taman, 
where  we  meant  to  go,  but  not  one  boatman  would 
consent  to  carry  us  over  in  his  boat,  in  spite  of  my 
pleadings.  Everyone  here  was  up  in  arms  against  the 
tramps,  who,  shortly  before  our  arrival,  had  performed 
a  series  of  heroic  exploits;  and  we  were  looked  upon, 
with  good  reason,  as  belonging  to  their  set. 

Evening  came  on.  I  felt  angry  with  the  whole  world, 
for  my  lack  of  success ;  and  I  planned  a  somewhat  risky 
scheme,  which  I  put  into  execution  as  soon  as  night 
came  on. 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

Toward  evening,  Shakro  and  I  stole  quietly  up  to- 
ward the  boats  of  the  custom  house  guardship.  There 
were  three  of  them,  chained  to  iron  rings,  which  rings 
were  firmly  screwed  into  the  stone  wall  of  the  quay.  It 
was  pitch  dark.  A  strong  wind  dashed  the  boats  one 
against  the  other.  The  iron  chains  clanked  noisily. 
In  the  darkness  and  the  noise,  it  was  easy  for  me  to 
unscrew  the  ring  from  the  stone  wall. 

Just  above  our  heads  the  sentinel  walked  to  and  fro, 
whistling  through  his  teeth  a  tune.  Whenever  he  ap- 
proached I  stopped  my  worij,  though,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  this  was  a  useless  precaution;  he  could  not  even 
have  suspected  that  a  person  would  sit  up  to  his  neck 
in  the  water,  at  a  spot  where  the  backwash  of  a  wave 
might  at  any  moment  carry  him  off  his  feet.  Besides, 
the  chains  never  ceased  clanking,  as  the  wind  swung 
them  backward  and  forward.    Shakro  was  already  lying 


MY  FELLOW-TKAVELLER  201 

full  length  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  muttering 
something,  which  the  noise  of  the  waves  prevented  me 
from  hearing.  At  last  the  ring  was  in  my  hand.  At 
the  same  moment  a  wave  caught  our  boat,  and  dashed 
it  suddenly  some  ten  yards  away  from  the  side  of  the 
quay.  I  had  to  swim  for  a  few  seconds  by  the  side  of 
the  boat,  holding  the  chain  in  my  hand.  At  last  I 
managed  to  scramble  in.  We  tore  up  two  boards  from 
the  bottom,  and  using  these  as  oars,  I  paddled  away  as 
fast  as  I  could. 

Clouds  sailed  rapidly  over  our  heads;  around,  and 
imderneath  the  boat,  waves  splashed  furiously.  Shakro 
sat  aft.  Every  now  and  then  I  lost  sight  of  him  as  the 
whole  stern  of  the  boat  slipped  into  some  deep  watery 
gulf;  the  next  moment  he  would  rise  high  above  my 
head,  shouting  desperately,  and  almost  falling  forward 
into  my  arms.  I  told  him  not  to  shout,  but  to  fasten 
his  feet  to  the  seat  of  the  boat,  as  I  had  already  fastened 
mine.  I  feared  his  shouts  might  give  the  alarm.  He 
obeyed,  and  grew  so  silent  that  I  only  knew  he  was 
in  the  boat  by  the  white  spot  opposite  to  me,  which  I 
knew  must  be  his  face.  The  whole  time  he  held  the 
rudder  in  his  hand;  we  could  not  change  places,  we 
dared  not  move. 

From  time  to  time  I  called  out  instructions  as  to  the 
handling  of  the  boat,  and  he  understood  me  so  quickly, 
and  did  everything  so  cleverly,  that  one  might  have 
thought  he  had  been  born  a  sailor.  The  boards  I  was 
using  in  the  place  of  oars  were  of  little  use;  they  only 
blistered  my  hands.  The  furious  gusts  of  wind  served 
to  carry  the  boat  forward.    I  cared  little  for  the  diree- 


202  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

tion,  my  only  thought  was  to  get  the  boat  across  to  the 
other  side.  It  was  not  difficult  to  steer,  for  the  lights 
in  Kertch  were  still  visible,  and  served  as  a  beacon. 
The  waves  splashed  over  our  boat  with  angry  hissings. 
The  farther  across  we  got,  the  more  furious  and  the 
wilder  became  the  waves.  Already  we  could  hear  a  sort 
of  roar  that  held  mind  and  soul  as  with  a  spell.  Easter 
and  faster  our  boat  flew  on  before  the  wind,  till  it 
became  almost  impossible  to  steer  a  course.  Every  now 
and  then  we  would  sink  into  a  gulf,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment we  would  rise  high  on  the  summit  of  some  enor- 
mous watery  hill.  The  darkness  was  increasing,  the 
clouds  were  sinking  lower  and  lower.  The  lights  of  the 
town  had  disappeared. 

Our  state  was  growing  desperate.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
expanse  of  angry  rollers  was  boundless  and  limitless. 
We  could  see  nothing  but  these  immense  waves,  that 
came  rolling,  one  after  another,  out  of  the  gloom, 
straight  on  to  our  boat.  With  an  angry  crash  a  board 
was  torn  from  my  hand,  forcing  me  to  throw  the  other 
into  the  boat,  and  to  hold  on  tight  with  both  hands 
to  the  gunwale.  Every  time  the  boat  was  thrown  up- 
ward, Shakro  shrieked  wildly.  As  for  me,  I  felt 
wretched  and  helpless,  in  the  darkness,  surrounded  with 
angry  waves,  whose  noise  deafened  me.  I  stared  about 
me  in  dull  and  chilly  terror,  and  saw  the  awful  monot- 
ony around  us.  Waves,  nothing  but  waves,  with  whitish 
crests,  that  broke  in  showers  of  salt  spray;  above  us, 
the  thick  ragged  edged  clouds  were  like  waves  too. 

I  became  conscious  only  of  one  thing:  I  felt  that  all 
that  was  going  on  around  me  might  be  immeasurably 


MY  FELLOW-TEA VELLER  203 

more  majestic  and  more  terrible,  but  that  it  did  not 
deign  to  be,  and  was  restraining  its  strength;  and  that 
I  resented.  Death  is  inevitable.  But  that  impartial 
law,  reducing  all  to  the  same  commonplace  level,  seems 
to  need  something  beautiful  to  compensate  for  its 
coarseness  and  cruelty.  If  I  were  asked  to  choose  be- 
tween a  death  by  burning,  or  being  suffocated  in  a  dirty 
bog,  I  should  choose  the  former;  it  is  any  way,  a  more 
seemly  death. 

"Let  us  rig  up  a  sail,"  exclaimed  Shakro. 

"Where  am  I  to  find  one?" 

"Use  my  overcoat." 

"Chuck  it  over  to  me  then;  but  mind  you  don't  drop 
the  rudder  into  the  water !" 

Shakro  quietly  threw  it  to  me.    "Here !    Catch  hold  !" 

Crawling  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  I  succeeded 
in  pulling  up  another  board,  one  end  of  which  I  fixed 
into  one  ci  the  sleeves  of  the  coat.  I  then  fixed  the 
board  against  the  seat,  and  held  it  there  with  my  feet. 
I  was  Just  going  to  take  hold  of  the  other  sleeve,  when 
an  unexpected  thing  happened.  The  boat  was  tossed 
suddenly  upward,  and  then  overturned.  I  felt  myself 
in  the  water,  holding  the  overcoat  in  one  hand,  and  a 
rope,  that  was  fastened  to  the  boat,  in  the  other  hand. 
The  waves  swirled  noisily  over  my  head,  and  I  swallowed 
a  mouthful  of  bitter  salt  water.  My  nose,  my  mouth, 
and  my  ears,  were  full  of  it. 

With  all  my  might  I  clutched  the  rope,  as  the  waves 
threw  me  backward  and  forward.  Several  times  I  sank, 
each  time,  as  I  rose  again,  bumping  my  head  against 
the  sides  of  the  boat. 


204  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

At  last  I  succeeded  in  throwing  the  coat  over  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  and  tried  to  clamber  on  it  myself. 
After  a  dozen  efforts  I  scrambled  up  and  I  sat  astride 
it.  Then  I  caught  sight  of  Shakro  in  the  water  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  boat,  holding  with  both  hands  to 
the  same  rope  of  which  I  had  just  let  go.  The  boat 
was  apparently  encircled  by  a  rope,  threaded  through 
iron  rings,  driven  into  the  outer  planks. 

"Alive !"  I  shouted. 

At  that  moment  Shakro  was  flung  high  into  the  air, 
and  he,  too,  got  on  to  the  boat.  I  clutched  him,  and 
there  we  remained  sitting  face  to  face,  astride  on  the 
capsized  boat!  I  sat  on  it  as  though  it  were  a  horse, 
making  use  of  the  rope  as  if  it  had  been  stirrups;  but 
our  position  there  was  anything  but  safe — a  wave  might 
easily  have  knocked  us  out  of  our  saddle.  Shakro  held 
tightly  by  my  knees,  and  dropped  his  head  on  my 
breast.  He  shivered,  and  I  could  hear  his  teeth  chatter- 
ing. Something  had  to  be  done.  The  bottom  of  the 
upturned  boat  was  slippery,  as  though  it  had  been 
greased  with  butter.  I  told  Shakro  to  get  into  the  water 
again,  and  hold  by  the  ropes  on  one  side  of  the  boat, 
while  I  would  do  the  same  on  the  other  side. 

By  way  of  reply,  Shakro  began  to  butt  his  head  vio- 
lently against  my  chest.  The  waves  swept,  in  their  wild 
dance,  every  now  and  then  over  us.  We  could  hardly 
hold  our  seats;  the  rope  was  cutting  my  leg  desper- 
ately. As  far  as  one  could  see  there  was  nothing  but 
immense  waves,  rising  mountains  high,  only  to  disap- 
pear again  noisily. 

I  repeated  my  advice  to  Shakro  in  a  tone  of  com- 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  205 

mand.  He  fell  to  butting  me  more  violently  than  ever. 
There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Slowly  and  with  diffi- 
culty I  tore  his  hands  from  me,  and  began  to  push 
him  into  the  water,  trying  to  make  his  hands  take  hold 
of  the  rope.  Then  something  happened  that  dismayed 
me  more  than  anything  in  that  terrible  night. 

"Are  you  drowning  me?"  he  muttered,  gazing  at  me. 

This  was  really  horrible!  The  question  itself  was 
a  dreadful  one,  but  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered 
more  so.  In  it  there  was  a  timid  submission  to  fate, 
and  an  entreaty  for  mercy,  and  the  last  sigh  of  one 
who  had  lost  all  hope  of  escaping  from  a  frightful 
death.  But  more  terrible  still  were  the  eyes  that  stared 
at  me  out  of  the  wet,  livid,  death-like  face. 

"Hold  on  tighter!"  I  shouted  to  him,  at  the  same 
time  getting  into  the  water  myself,  and  taking  hold  of 
the  rope.  As  I  did  so,  I  struck  my  foot  against  some- 
thing, and  for  a  moment  I  could  not  think  for  the  pain. 
Then  I  understood.  Suddenly  a  burning  thought 
flashed  through  my  mind.  I  felt  delirious  and  stronger 
than  ever. 

"Land !"  I  shouted. 

Great  explorers  may  have  shouted  the  word  with 
more  feeling  on  discovering  new  lands,  but  I  doubt  if 
any  can  have  shouted  more  loudly.  Shakro  howled 
with  delight,  and  we  both  rushed  on  in  the  water.  But 
soon  we  both  lost  heart,  for  we  were  up  to  our  chests 
in  the  waves,  and  still  there  seemed  no  sign  of  dry 
land.  The  waves  were  neither  so  strong  nor  so  high, 
but  they  rolled  slowly  over  our  heads.  Fortunately  I 
had  not  let  go  of  the  boat,  but  still  held  on  by  the  rope. 


206  CEEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

which  had  already  helped  us  when  struggling  in  the 
water.  Shakro  and  I  moved  carefully  forward,  towing 
the  boat,  which  we  had  now  righted,  behind  us. 

Shakro  was  muttering  and  laughing.  I  glanced  anx- 
iously around.  It  was  still  dark.  Behind  us,  and  to 
our  right,  the  roaring  of  the  waves  seemed  to  be  in- 
creasing, whereas  to  our  left  and  in  front  of  us  it  was 
evidently  growing  less.  We  moved  toward  the  left. 
The  bottom  was  hard  and  sandy,  but  full  of  holes; 
sometimes  we  could  not  touch  the  bottom,  and  we  had 
to  take  hold  of  the  boat  with  one  hand,  while  with  the 
other  hand,  and  our  legs,  we  propelled  it  forward.  At 
times  again  the  water  was  no  higher  than  our  knees. 
When  we  came  to  the  deep  places  Shakro  howled,  and  I 
trembled  with  fear.  Suddenly  we  saw  ahead  of  us  a 
light — we  were  safe ! 

Shakro  shouted  with  all  his  might,  but  I  could  not 
forget  that  the  boat  was  not  ours,  and  promptly  re- 
minded him  of  the  fact.  He  was  silent,  but  a  few  min- 
utes later  I  heard  him  sobbing.  I  could  not  quiet  him 
— it  was  hopeless.  But  the  water  was  gradually  growing 
shallower,  it  reached  our  knees,  then  our  ankles;  and 
at  last  we  felt  dry  land !  We  had  dragged  the  boat  so 
far,  but  our  strength  failed  us,  and  we  left  it.  A  black 
log  of  wood  lay  across  our  path;  we  Jumped  over  it, 
and  stepped  with  our  bare  feet  on  to  some  prickly  grass. 
It  seemed  unkind  of  the  land  to  give  us  such  a  cruel 
welcome,  but  we  did  not  heed  it,  and  ran  toward  the 
fire.  It  was  about  a  mile  away;  but  it  shone  cheerily 
through  the  hovering  gloom  of  the  night,  and  seemed 
to  smile  a  welcome  to  us. 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLEE  207 

CHAPTEE  VII. 

Thuee  enormous  shaggy  dogs  leaped  up  out  of  the 
darkness  and  ran  toward  us.  Shakro,  who  had  been 
sobbing  all  the  way,  now  shrieked,  and  threw  himseK 
on  the  ground.  I  flung  the  wet  overcoat  at  the  dogs, 
and  stooped  down  to  find  a  stick  or  a  stone.  I  could 
feel  nothing  but  coarse,  prickly  grass,  which  hurt  my 
hands.  The  dogs  continued  their  attack.  I  put  my 
fingers  into  my  mouth,  and  whistled  as  loud  as  I  could. 
They  rushed  back,  and  at  the  same  time  we  heard  the 
sound  of  approaching  steps  and  voices. 

A  few  minutes  later,  and  we  were  comfortably  seated 
around  a  fire  in  the  company  of  four  shepherds,  dressed 
in  "touloups"  or  long  sheepskin  overcoats. 

They  scrutinized  us  keenly  and  rather  suspiciously, 
and  remained  silent  all  the  time  I  was  telling  them  our 
story. 

Two  of  the  shepherds  were  seated  on  the  groxmd, 
smoking,  and  puffing  from  their  mouths  clouds  of 
smoke.  The  third  was  a  tall  man  with  a  thick  black 
beard,  wearing  a  high  fur  cap.  He  stood  behind  us, 
leaning  on  a  huge  knotted  stick.  The  fourth  man  was 
younger,  and  fair  haired;  he  was  helping  the  sobbing 
Shakro  to  get  off  his  wet  clothes.  An  enormous  stick, 
the  size  of  which  alone  inspired  fear,  lay  beside  each 
of  the  seated  shepherds. 

Ten  yards  away  from  us  all  the  steppe  seemed  cov- 
ered with  something  gray  and  undulating,  which  had 
the  appearance  of  snow  in  spring  time,  just  when  it  is 
beginning  to  thaw.    It  was  only  after  a  close  inspection 


208  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

that  one  could  discern  that  this  gray  waving  mass  was 
composed  of  many  thousands  of  sheep,  huddled  closely 
together,  asleep,  forming  in  the  dark  night  one  com- 
pact mass.  Sometimes  they  bleated  piteously  and 
timidly. 

I  dried  the  overcoat  by  the  fire,  and  told  the  shep- 
herds all  our  story  truthfully;  even  describing  the  way 
in  which  we  became  possessed  of  the  boat. 

"Where  is  that  boat  now?"  inquired  the  severe-look- 
ing elder  man,  who  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  me. 

I  told  him. 

"Go,  Michael,  and  look  for  it." 

Michael,  the  shepherd  with  the  black  beard,  went  off 
with  his  stick  over  his  shoulder,  toward  the  sea-shore. 

The  overcoat  was  dry.  Shakro  was  about  to  put  it 
on  his  naked  body,  when  the  old  man  said :  "Go  and 
have  a  run  first  to  warm  yourself.  Run  quickly  around 
the  fire.    Come !" 

At  first,  Shakro  did  not  understand.  Then  suddenly 
he  rose  from  his  place,  and  began  dancing  some  wild 
dance  of  his  own,  first  flying  like  a  ball  across  the  fire, 
then  whirling  round  and  round  in  one  place,  then 
stamping  his  feet  on  the  ground,  while  he  swung  his 
arms,  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  It  was  a 
ludicrous  spectacle.  Two  of  the  shepherds  were  roll- 
ing on  the  ground,  convulsed  with  laughter,  while  the 
older  man,  with  a  serious,  immovable  face,  tried  to 
clap  his  hands  in  time  to  the  dancing,  but  could  not 
succeed  in  doing  so.  He  watched  attentively  every 
movement  of  the  dancing  Shakro,  while  he  nodded  his 
head,  and  exclaimed  in  a  deep  bass  voice: 


MY  FELLOW-TEA VELLER  209 

"He  1  He  !  That's  right !  He !  He !" 
The  light  fell  full  on  Shakro,  showing  the  variety  of 
his  movements,  as  at  one  moment  he  would  coil  himself 
up  like  a  snake,  and  the  next  would  dance  round  on 
one  leg;  then  would  plunge  into  a  succession  of  rapid 
steps,  difficult  to  follow  with  the  eye.  His  naked  body 
shone  in  the  fire  light,  while  the  large  beads  of  sweat, 
as  they  rolled  off  it,  looked,  in  the  red  light  of  the  fire, 
like  drops  of  blood. 

By  now,  all  three  of  the  shepherds  were  clapping 
their  hands;  while  I,  shivering  with  cold,  dried  myseK 
by  the  fire,  and  thought  that  our  adventures  would 
gratify  the  taste  of  admirers  of  Cooper  or  of  Jules 
Vernes;  there  was  shipwreck,  then  came  hospitable  abo- 
rigines, and  a  savage  dance  round  the  fire.  And  while 
I  reflect<;d  thus,  I  felt  very  uneasy  as  to  the  chief  point 
in  every  adventure — the  end  of  it. 

When  Shakro  had  finished  dancing,  he  also  sat  down 
by  the  fire,  wrapped  up  in  the  overcoat.  He  was  al- 
ready eating,  while  he  stared  at  me  with  his  black  eyes, 
which  had  a  gleam  in  them  of  something  I  did  not  like. 
His  clothes,  stretched  on  sticks,  driven  into  the  ground, 
were  drying  before  the  fire.  The  shepherds  had  given 
me,  also,  some  bread  and  bacon. 

Michael  returned,  and  sat  down  without  a  word  be- 
side the  old  man,  who  remarked  in  an  inquiring  voice : 
'^ell?" 

"I  have  found  the  boat,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"It  won't  be  washed  away  ?" 

"No." 

The  shepherds  were  silent,  once  more  scrutinizing  us. 


210  CEEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

"Well/*  said  Michael,  at  last,  addressing  no  one  in 
particular.  "Shall  we  take  them  to  the  ataman,  or 
straight  to  the  custom  house  officers  ?" 

"So  that's  to  be  the  end !"  I  thought  to  myself. 

Nobody  replied  to  Michael's  question.  Shakro  went 
on  quietly  with  his  eating,  and  said  nothing. 

"We  could  take  them  to  the  ataman — or  we  could 
take  them  to  the  custom  house.  One  plan's  as  good  as 
the  other,"  remarked  the  old  man,  after  a  short  silence. 

"They  have  stolen  the  custom  house  boat,  so  they 
ought  to  be  taught  a  lesson  for  the  future." 

"Wait  a  bit,  old  man,"  I  began. 

"Certainly,  they  ought  not  to  have  stolen  the  boat. 
If  they  are  not  punished  now,  they  will  probably  do 
something  worse  next  time."  The  old  man  interrupted 
me,  without  paying  any  heed  to  my  protestations. 

The  old  man  spoke  with  revolting  indifference.  When 
he  had  finished  speaking,  his  comrades  nodded  their 
heads  in  token  of  assent. 

"Yes,  if  a  man  steals,  he  has  to  bear  the  consequences, 

when  he's  caught Michael!  what  about  the  boat? 

Is  it  there  ?" 

"Oh,  it's  there  all  right !" 

"Are  you  sure  the  waves  won't  wash  it  away?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  Then  let  it  stay  there.  To- 
morrow the  boatmen  will  be  going  over  to  Kertch,  and 
they  can  take  it  with  them.  They  will  not  mind  taking 
an  empty  boat  along  with  them,  will  they?  Well — so 
you  mean  to  say  you  were  not  frightened,  you  vaga- 
bonds ?    Weren't  you  indeed  ?    La !  la !  la !    HaK  a  mile 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  211 

farther  out,  and  you  would  have  been  by  this  time  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea!  What  would  you  have  done  if 
the  waves  had  cast  you  back  into  the  sea?  Ay,  sure 
enough,  you  would  have  sunk  to  the  bottom  like  a  couple 
of  axes.  And  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  you 
both  r 

As  the  old  man  finished  speaking,  he  look*>d  at  me 
with  an  ironical  smile  on  his  lips, 

'^ell,  why  don't  you  speak,  lad?"  he  inquired. 

I  was  vexed  by  his  reflections,  which  I  misinterpreted 
as  sneering  at  us.    So  I  only  answered  rather  sharply: 

'T  was  listening  to  you.*' 

*^ell — and  what  do  you  say  ?"  inquired  the  old  man. 

'Nothing." 

*^Why  are  you  rude  to  me  ?  Is  it  the  right  thing  to 
be  rude  to  a  man  older  than  yourself  ?" 

I  was  silent,  acknowledging  in  my  heart  that  it  really 
was  not  the  right  tiling. 

"Won't  you  have  something  more  to  eat?"  continued 
the  old  shepherd. 

"No,  I  can't  eat  any  more." 

*^ell,  don't  have  any,  if  you  don't  want  it.  Perhaps 
you'll  take  a  bit  of  bread  with  you  to  eat  on  the  road  ?" 

I  trembled  with  Joy,  but  would  not  betray  my  feelings. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  should  like  to  take  some  with  me  for 
the  road,"  I  answered,  quietly. 

'1  say,  lads!  give  these  fellows  some  bread  and  a 
piece  of  bacon  each.  If  you  can  find  something  else, 
give  it  to  them  too." 

"Are  we  to  let  them  go,  then  ?"  asked  Michael. 

The  other  two  shepherds  looked  up  at  the  old  man. 


212     CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"What  can  they  do  here  ?" 

"Did  we  not  intend  to  take  them  either  to  the  ata- 
man or  to  the  custom  house?"  asked  Michael,  in  a  ds- 
appointed  tone. 

Shakro  stirred  uneasily  in  his  seat  near  the  fire,  and 
poked  out  his  head  inquiringly  from  beneath  the  over- 
coat.   He  was  quite  serene. 

'^hat  would  they  do  at  the  ataman's?  I  should 
think  there  is  nothing  to  do  there  just  now.  Perhaps 
later  on  they  might  hke  to  go  there  ?'* 

"But  how  about  the  boat?"  insisted  Michael. 

"What  about  the  boat?"  inquired  the  old  man  again. 
"Did  you  not  say  the  boat  was  all  right  where  it  was?" 

"Yes,  it's  all  right  there,"  Michael  replied. 

"Well,  let  it  stay  there.  In  the  morning  John  can 
row  it  round  into  the  harbor.  From  there,  someone 
will  get  it  over  to  Kertch.  That's  all  we  can  do  with 
the  boat." 

I  watched  attentively  the  old  man's  countenance,  but 
failed  to  discover  any  emotion  on  his  phlegmatic,  sun- 
burned, weather-beaten  face,  over  the  features  of  which 
the  flicker  from  the  flames  played  merrily. 

"If  only  we  don't  get  into  trouble."  Michael  began 
to  give  way. 

"There  will  be  no  trouble  if  you  don't  let  your  tongue 
wag.  If  the  ataman  should  hear  of  it,  we  might  get 
into  a  scrape,  and  they  also.  We  have  our  work  to  do, 
and  they  have  to  be  getting  on.  Is  it  far  you  have  to 
go?"  asked  the  old  man  again,  though  I  had  told  him 
once  before  I  was  bound  for  Tiflis. 

* '  That 's  a  long  way  yet.    The  ataman  might  detain 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  213 

them;  then,  when  would  they  get  to  Tiflis?  So  let 
them  be  getting  on  their  way.     Eh  ?" 

"Yes,  let  them  go,"  all  the  shepherds  agreed,  as  the 
old  man,  when  he  had  finished  speaking,  closed  his  lips 
tightly,  and  cast  an  inquiring  glance  around  him,  as 
he  fingered  his  gray  beard. 

*^Vell,  my  good  fellows,  be  off,  and  God  bless  you!" 
he  exclaimed  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  *^e  will  see 
that  the  boat  goes  back,  so  don't  trouble  about  that !" 

"Many,  many  thanks,  grandfather !"  I  said  taking  off 
my  cap. 

*^"hat  are  you  thanking  me  for?" 

"Thank  you ;  thank  you !"  I  repeated  fervently. 

"What  are  you  thanking  me  for?  That's  queer!  I 
Bay,  God  bless  you,  and  he  thanks  me !  Were  you  afraid 
I'd  send  you  to  the  devil,  eh?" 

"I'd  done  wrong  and  I  was  afraid,"  I  answered. 

"Oh !"  and  the  old  man  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "Why 
should  I  drive  a  man  farther  along  the  wrong  path? 
I'd  do  better  by  helping  one  along  the  way  I'm  going 
myself.  Maybe,  we  shall  meet  again,  and  then  we'll 
meet  as  friends.  We  ought  to  help  one  another  where 
we  can.    Good-bye !" 

He  took  off  his  large  shaggy  sheepskin  cap,  and 
bowed  low  to  us.    His  comrades  bowed  too. 

We  inquired  our  way  to  Anapa,  and  started  off. 
Shakro  was  laughing  at  something  or  other. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

''Why  are  you  laughing?"  I  asked. 

The  old  shepherd  and  his  ethics  of  life  had  charmed 


214  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

and  delighted  me.  I  felt  refreshed  by  the  pure  air  of 
early  morning,  blowing  straight  into  my  face.  I  re- 
joiced, as  I  watched  the  sky  gradually  clearing,  and  felt 
that  daylight  was  not  far  off.  Before  long  the  morning 
sun  would  rise  in  a  clear  sky,  and  we  could  look  for- 
ward to  a  brilliantly  fine  day. 

Shakro  winked  slyly  at  me,  and  burst  out  into  a  fresh 
fit  of  laughter.  The  hearty,  buoyant  ring  in  his  laugh 
made  me  smile  also.  The  few  hours  rest  we  had  taken 
by  the  side  of  the  shepherd's  fire,  and  their  excellent 
bread  and  bacon,  had  helped  us  to  forget  our  exhaust- 
ing voyage.  Our  bones  still  ached  a  little,  but  that 
would  pass  off  with  walking. 

"Well,  what  are  you  laughing  at  ?  Are  you  glad  that 
you  aie  alive  ?    Alive  and  not  even  hungry  ?" 

Shakro  shook  his  head,  nudged  me  in  the  ribs,  made 
a  grimace,  burst  out  laughing  again,  and  at  last  said 
in  his  broken  Russian:  "You  don't  see  what  it  is  that 
makes  me  laugh  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.  Do 
you  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  we  had  been 
taken  before  the  ataman?  You  don't  know?  I'd  have 
told  him  that  you  had  tried  to  droM^n  me,  and  I  should 
have  begun  to  cry.  Then  they  would  have  been  sorry 
for  me,  and  wouldn't  have  put  me  in  prison !  Do  you 
see  ?" 

At  first  I  tried  to  make  myself  believe  that  it  was  a 
joke ;  but,  alas !  he  succeeded  in  convincing  me  he  meant 
it  seriously.  So  clearly  and  completely  did  he  convince 
me  of  it,  that,  instead  of  being  furious  with  him  for 
such  naive  cynicism,  I  was  filled  with  deep  pity  for 
^im,  and  incidentally  for  myself  as  well.    What  else  but 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  215 

pity  can  one  feel  for  a  man  who  tells  one  in  all  sin- 
cerity, with  the  brightest  of  smiles,  of  his  intention  to 
mnrder  one  ?  What  is  to  be  done  with  him  if  he  looks 
upon  such  an  action  as  a  clever  and  delightful  jojce? 

I  began  to  argue  warmly  with  him,  trying  to  show 
him  all  the  immorality  of  his  scheme.  He  retorted  very 
candidly  that  I  did  not  see  where  his  interests  lay,  and 
had  forgotten  he  had  a  false  passport  and  might  get  into 
trouble  in  consequence.  Suddenly  a  cruel  thought 
flashed  through  my  mind. 

"Stay,"  said  I,  "do  you  really  believe  that  I  wanted 
to  drown  you?" 

"No !  When  you  were  pushing  m€  into  the  water 
I  did  think  so;  but  when  you  got  in  as  well,  then  I 
didn't !" 

"Thank  God !"  I  exclaimed.  "Well,  thanks  for  that, 
anyway !" 

"Oh !  no,  you  needn't  say  thank  you.  I  am  the  one 
to  say  thank  you.  Were  we  not  both  cold  when  we 
were  sitting  round  the  fire?  The  overcoat  was  yours, 
but  you  didn't  take  it  yourself.  You  dried  it,  and  gave 
it  to  me.  And  took  nothing  for  yourself.  Thank  you 
for  that !  You  are  a  good  fellow ;  I  can  see  that.  When 
we  get  to  Tiflis,  I  will  reward  you.  I  shall  take  you 
to  my  father.  I  shall  say  to  him :  'Here  is  a  man  whom 
you  must  feed  and  care  for,  while  I  deserve  only  to  be 
kept  in  the  stable  with  the  mules.'  You  shall  live  with 
us,  and  be  our  gardener,  and  we  will  give  you  wine  in 
plenty,  and  anything  you  like  to  eat.  Ah!  you  will 
have  a  capital  time!  You  will  share  my  wine  and 
food !" 


216  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

He  continued  for  some  time,  describing  in  detail  the 
attractions  of  the  new  Hfe  he  was  going  to  arrange  for 
me  in  his  home  in  Tiflis. 

And  as  he  talked,  I  mused  on  the  great  unhappiness 
of  men  equipped  with  new  morality  and  new  aspira- 
tions— they  tread  the  paths  of  life  lonely  and  astray; 
and  the  fellow-travelers  they  meet  on  the  way  are  aliens 
to  them,  unable  to  understand  them.  Life  is  a  heavy 
burden  for  these  lonely  souls.  Helplessly  they  drift 
hither  and  thither.  They  are  like  the  good  seed,  wafted 
in  the  air,  and  dropping  but  rarely  onto  fruitful  soil. 

Daylight  had  broken.  The  sea  far  away  shone  with 
rosy  gold. 

"I  am  sleepy,"  said  Shakro. 

We  halted.  He  lay  down  in  a  trench,  which  the  fierce 
gusts  of  wind  had  dug  out  in  the  dry  sand,  near  the 
shore.  He  wrapped  himself,  head  and  all,  in  the  over- 
coat, and  was  soon  sound  asleep.  I  sat  beside  him, 
gazing  dreamily  over  the  sea. 

It  was  living  its  vast  life,  full  of  mighty  movement. 

The  flocks  of  waves  broke  noisily  on  the  shore  and 
rippled  over  the  sand,  that  faintly  hissed  as  it  soaked 
up  the  water.  The  foremost  waves,  crested  with  white 
foam,  flung  themselves  with  a  loud  boom  on  the  shore, 
and  retreated,  driven  back  to  meet  the  waves  that  were 
pushing  forward  to  support  them.  Intermingling  in 
the  foam  and  spray,  they  rolled  once  more  toward  the 
shore,  and  beat  upon  it,  struggling  to  enlarge  the  bounds 
of  their  realm.  From  the  horizon  to  the  shore,  across 
the  whole  expanse  of  waters,  these  supple,  mighty 
waves  rose  up,  moving,  ever  moving,  in  a  compact  mass, 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  217 

bound  together  by  the  oneness  of  their  aim.  The  sun 
shone  more  and  more  brightly  on  the  crests  of  the 
breakers,  which,  in  the  distance  on  the  horizon,  looked 
blood-red.  Not  a  drop  went  astray  in  the  titanic  heav- 
ings  of  the  watery  mass,  impelled,  it  seemed,  by  some 
conscious  aim,  which  it  would  soon  attain  by  its  vast 
rhythmic  blows.  Enchanting  was  the  bold  beauty  of 
the  foremost  waves,  as  they  dashed  stubbornly  upon  the 
silent  shore,  and  fine  it  was  to  see  the  whole  sea,  calm 
and  united,  the  mighty  sea,  pressing  on  and  ever  on. 
The  sea  glittered  now  with  all  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow, and  seemed  to  take  a  proud,  conscious  delight  in 
its  own  power  and  beauty. 

A  large  steamer  glided  quietly  round  a  point  of  land, 
cleaving  the  waters.  Swaying  majestically  over  the 
troubled  sea,  it  dashed  aside  the  threatening  crests  of 
the  waves.  At  any  other  time  this  splendid,  strong, 
flashing  steamer  would  have  set  me  thinking  of  the 
creative  genius  of  man,  who  could  thus  enslave  the  ele- 
ments. But  now,  beside  me  lay  an  untamed  element 
in  the  shape  of  a  man. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

We  were  tramping  now  through  the  district  of  Terek. 
Shakro  was  indescribably  ragged  and  dishevelled.  He 
was  surly  as  the  devil,  though  he  had  plenty  of  food  now, 
for  it  was  easy  to  find  work  in  these  parts.  He  himself 
was  not  good  at  any  kind  of  work.  Once  he  got  a  small 
job  on  a  thrashing  machine;  his  djty  was  to  push  aside 
the  straw,  as  it  left  the  machine ;  but  after  working  half 


218  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

a  day  he  left  off,  as  the  palms  of  his  hands  were  blis- 
tered and  sore.  Another  time  he  started  off  with  me 
and  some  other  workmen  to  root  up  trees,  but  he  grazed 
his  neck  with  a  mattock. 

We  got  on  with  our  journey  very  slowly;  we  worked 
two  days,  and  walked  on  the  third  day.  Shakro  ate 
all  he  could  get  hold  of,  and  his  gluttony  prevented  me 
from  saving  enough  money  to  buy  him  new  clothes. 
His  ragged  clothes  were  patched  in  the  most  fantastic 
way  with  pieces  of  various  colors  and  sizes.  I  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  keep  away  from  the  beer  houses 
in  the  villages,  and  to  give  up  drinking  his  favorite 
wines ;  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  my  words. 

With  great  difficulty  I  had,  unknown  to  him,  saved 
up  five  roubles,  to  buy  him  some  new  clothes.  One  day, 
when  we  were  stopping  in  some  village,  he  stole  the 
money  from  my  knapsack,  and  came  in  the  evening,  in 
a  tipsy  state,  to  the  garden  where  I  was  working.  He 
brought  with  him  a  fat  country  wench,  who  greeted  me 
with  the  following  words:  "Good-day,  you  damned 
heretic !" 

Astonished  at  this  epithet,  I  asked  her  why  she  called 
me  a  heretic.  She  answered  boldly :  "Because  you  for- 
bid a  young  man  to  love  women,  you  devil.  How  can 
you  forbid  what  is  allowed  by  law?  Damn  you,  you 
devil !" 

Shakro  stood  beside  her,  nodding  his  head  approv- 
ingly. He  was  very  tipsy,  and  he  rocked  backward  and 
forward  unsteadily  on  his  legs.  His  lower  lip  drooped 
helplessly.  His  dim  eyes  stared  at  me  with  vacant 
obstinacy. 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  219 

"Come,  what  are  you  looking  at  us  for?  Give  him 
his  money  V  shouted  the  undaunted  woman. 

**What  money?"  I  exclaimed,  astonished. 

"Give  it  back  at  once ;  or  I'll  take  you  before  the  ata- 
man !  Return  the  hundred  and  fifty  roubles,  which  you 
borrowed  from  him  in  Odessa !" 

What  was  I  to  do?  The  drunken  creature  might 
really  go  and  complain  to  the  Ataman;  the  Atamans 
were  always  very  severe  on  any  kind  of  tramp,  and  he 
might  arrest  us.  Heaven  only  knew  what  trouble  my 
arrest  might  inflict,  not  only  on  myself,  but  on  Shak- 
ro !  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  try  and  outwit 
the  woman,  which  was  not,  of  course,  a  difficult 
matter. 

She  was  pacified  after  she  had  disposed  of  three  bottles 
of  vodka.  She  sank  heavily  to  the  ground,  on  a  bed 
of  melons,  and  fell  asleep.  Then  I  put  Shakro  to  sleep 
also. 

Early  next  morning  we  turned  our  backs  on  the  vil- 
lage, leaving  the  woman  sound  asleep  among  the 
melons. 

After  his  bout  of  drunkenness,  Shakro,  looking  far 
from  well,  and  with  a  swollen,  blotchy  face,  walked 
slowly  along,  every  now  and  then  spitting  on  one  side, 
and  sighing  deeply.  I  tried  to  begin  a  conversation 
with  him,  but  he  did  not  respond.  He  shook  his  un- 
kempt head,  as  does  a  tired  horse. 

It  was  a  hot  day;  the  air  was  full  of  heavy  vapors, 
rising  from  the  damp  soil,  where  the  thick,  lush  grass 
grew  abundantly — almost  as  high  as  our  heads.  Around 
us,  on  all  sides,  stretched  a  motionless  sea  of  velvety 


220  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

green  grass.  The  hot  air  was  steeped  in  strong  sappy 
perfumes,  which  made  one's  head  swim. 

To  shorten  our  way,  we  took  a  narrow  path,  where 
numbers  of  small  red  snakes  glided  about,  coiling  up 
under  our  feet.  On  the  horizon  to  our  right,  were 
ranges  of  cloudy  summits  flashing  silvery  in  the  sun. 
It  was  the  mountain  chain  of  the  Daguestan  Hills. 

The  stillness  that  reigned  made  one  feel  drowsy,  and 
plunged  one  into  a  sort  of  dreamy  state.  Dark,  heavy 
clouds,  rolling  up  behind  us,  swept  slowly  across  the 
heavens.  They  gathered  at  our  backs,  and  the  sky  there 
grew  dark,  while  in  front  of  us  it  still  showed  clear, 
except  for  a  few  fleecy  cloudlets,  racing  merrily  across 
the  open.  But  the  gathering  clouds  grew  darker  and 
swifter.  In  the  distance  could  be  heard  the  rattle  of 
thunder,  and  its  angry  rumbling  came  every  moment 
nearer.  Large  drops  of  rain  fell,  pattering  on  the  grass, 
with  a  sound  like  the  clang  of  metal.  There  was  no 
place  where  we  could  take  shelter.  It  had  grown  dark. 
The  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  grass  was  louder  still, 
but  it  had  a  frightened,  timid  sound.  There  was  a  clap 
of  thunder,  and  the  clouds  shuddered  in  a  blue  flash  of 
lightning.  Again  it  was  dark  and  the  silvery  chain  of 
distant  mountains  was  lost  in  the  gloom.  The  rain 
now  was  falling  in  torrents,  and  one  after  another  peals 
of  thunder  rumbled  menacingly  and  incessantly  over  the 
vast  steppe.  The  grass,  beaten  down  by  the  wind  and 
rain,  lay  flat  on  the  ground,  rustling  faintly.  Every- 
thing seemed  quivering  and  troubled.  Flashes  of  blind- 
ing lightning  tore*  the  storm  clouds  asunder.  The  sil- 
very, cold  chain  of  the  distant  mountains  sprang  up  in 


MY  FELLOW-TRAVELLER  221 

the  blue  flash  and  gleamed  with  blue  light.  When  the 
lightning  died  away,  the  mountains  vanished,  as  though 
flung  back  into  an  abyss  of  darkness.  The  air  was  filled 
with  rumblings  and  vibrations,  with  sounds  and  echoes. 
The  lowering,  angry  sky  seemed  purifying  itself  by 
fire,  from  the  dust  and  the  foulness  which  had  risen 
toward  it  from  the  earth,  and  the  earth,  it  seemed, 
was  quaking  in  terror  at  its  wrath.  Shakro  was  shaking 
and  whimpering  like  a  scared  dog.  But  I  felt  elated 
and  lifted  above  commonplace  life  as  I  watched  the 
mighty,  gloomy  spectacle  of  the  storm  on  the  steppe. 
This  unearthly  chaos  enchanted  me  and  exalted  me  to 
an  heroic  mood,  filling  my  soul  with  its  wild,  fierce 
harmony. 

And  I  longed  to  take  part  in  it,  and  to  express,  in 
some  way  or  other,  the  rapture  that  filled  my  heart  to 
overflowing,  in  the  presence  of  the  mysterious  force 
which  scatters  gloom,  and  gathering  clouds.  The  blue 
light  which  lit  up  the  sky  seemed  to  gleam  in  my  soul 
too;  and  how  was  I  to  express  my  passion  and  my  ec- 
stasy at  the  grandeur  of  nature?  I  sang  aloud,  at  the 
top  of  my  voice.  The  thunder  roared,  the  lightning 
flashed,  the  grass  whispered,  while  I  sang  and  felt  my- 
self in  close  kinship  with  nature's  music.  I  was  de- 
lirious, and  it  was  pardonable,  for  it  harmed  no  one 
but  myself.  I  was  filled  with  the  desire  to  absorb,  as 
much  as  possible,  the  mighty,  living  beauty  and  force 
that  was  raging  on  the  steppe ;  and  to  get  closer  to  it. 
A  tempest  at  sea,  and  a  thunderstorm  on  the  steppes ! 
I  know  nothing  grander  in  nature.  And  so  I  shouted 
to  my  heart's  content,  in  the  absolute  belief  that  I 


222  CEEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN" 

troubled  no  one,  nor  placed  any  one  in  a  position  to 
criticize  my  action.  But  suddenly,  I  felt  my  legs  seized, 
and  I  fell  helpless  into  a  pool  of  water. 

Shakro  was  looking  into  my  face  with  serious  and 
wrathful  eyes. 

"Are  you  mad?  Aren't  you?  No?  Well,  then,  be 
quiet!  Don't  shout!  I'll  cut  your  throat!  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

I  was  amazed,  and  I  asked  him  first  what  harm  I 
was  doing  him? 

"Why,  you're  frightening  me !  It's  thundering ;  Grod 
is  speaking,  and  you  bawl.  What  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

I  replied  that  I  had  a  right  to  sing  whenever  I  chose. 
Just  as  he  had. 

"But  I  don't  want  to !"  he  said. 

"Well,  don't  sing  then  !"  I  assented. 

"And  don't  you  sing !"  insisted  Shakro. 

"Yes,  I  mean  to  sing !" 

"Stop !  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?"  he  went  on 
angrily.  "Who  are  you?  You  have  neither  home  nor 
father,  nor  mother ;  you  have  no  relations,  no  land ! 
Who  are  you  ?  Are  you  anybody,  do  you  suppose  ?  It's 
I  am  somebody  in  the  world !     I  have  everything !" 

He  slapped  his  chest  vehemently. 

"I'm  a  prince,  and  you — you're  nobody — nothing! 
You  say — you're  this  and  that !  Who  else  says  so  ?  All 
Koutais  and  Tiflies  know  me !  You  shall  not  contradict 
me  !  Do  you  hear  ?  Are  you  not  my  servant  ?  I'll  pay 
ten  times  over  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  You  shaJl 
obey  me !     You  said  yourself  that  Grod  taught  ua  to 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  223 

serve  each  other  without  seeking  for  a  reward;  but  I'll 
reward  you. 

''Why  will  you  annoy  me,  preaching  to  me,  and  fright- 
ening me?  Do  you  want  me  to  be  like  you?  That's 
too  bad !  You  can't  make  me  like  yourself !  Foo ! 
Foo !" 

He  talked,  smacked  his  lips,  sfiuffled,  and  sighed.  I 
stood  staring  at  him,  open-mouthed  with  astonishment. 
He  was  evidently  pouring  out  now  all  the  discontent, 
displeasure  and  disgust,  which  had  been  gathering  up 
during  the  whole  of  our  journey.  To  convince  me  more 
thoroughly,  he  poked  me  in  the  chest  from  time  to  time 
with  his  forefinger,  and  shook  me  by  the  shoulder.  Dur- 
ing the  most  impressive  parts  of  his  speech  he  pushed 
up  against  me  with  his  whole  massive  body.  The  rain 
was  pouring  down  on  us,  the  thunder  never  ceased  its 
muttering,  and  to  make  me  hear,  Shakro  shouted  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  The  tragic  comedy  of  my  position 
struck  me  more  vividly  than  ever,  and  I  burst  into  a 
wild  fit  of  laughter.    Shakro  turned  away  and  spat. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  nearer  we  draw  to  Tiflis,  the  gloomier  and  the 
surlier  grew  Shakro.  His  thinner,  but  still  stolid  face 
wore  a  new  expression.  Just  before  we  reached  Vladi- 
kavkas  we  passed  through  a  Circassian  village,  where 
we  obtained  work  in  some  maize  fields. 

The  Circassians  spoke  very  little  Russian,  and  as  they 
constantly  laughed  at  us,  and  scolded  us  in  their  own 


224  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

language,  we  resolved  to  leave  the  village  two  days  aftBt* 
our  arrival;  their  increasing  enmity  had  begun  to 
alarm  us. 

We  had  left  the  village  about  ten  miles  behind,  when 
Shakro  produced  from  his  shirt  a  roll  of  home-spun 
muslin,  and  handing  it  to  me,  exclaimed  triumphantly : 

"You  need  not  work  any  more  now.  We  can  sell 
this,  and  buy  all  we  want  till  we  get  to  Tiflis !  Do  you 
see?*' 

I  was  moved  to  fury,  and  tearing  the  bundle  from  his 
hands,  I  flung  it  away,  glancing  back. 

The  Circassians  are  not  to  be  trifled  with!  Only  a 
short  time  before,  the  Cossacks  had  told  us  the  follow- 
ing story: 

A  tramp,  who  had  been  working  for  some  time  in  a 
Circassian  village,  stole  an  iron  spoon,  and  carried  it 
away  with  him.  The  Circassians  followed  him,  searched 
him,  and  found  the  iron  spoon.  They  ripped  open  his 
body  with  a  dagger,  and  after  pushing  the  iron  spoon 
into  the  wound,  went  off  quietly,  leaving  him  to  his 
fate  on  the  steppes.  He  was  found  by  some  Cossacks  at 
the  point  of  death.  He  told  them  this  story,  and  died 
on  the  way  to  their  village.  The  Cossacks  had  more 
than  once  warned  us  against  the  Circassians,  relating 
many  other  edifying  tales  of  the  same  sort.  I  had  no 
reason  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  these  stories.  I  re- 
minded Shakro  of  these  facts.  For  some  time  he 
listened  in  silence  to  what  I  was  saying ;  then,  suddenly, 
showing  his  teeth  and  screwing  up  his  eyes,  he  flew  at 
me  like  a  wild  cat.  We  struggled  for  five  minutes  or  so, 
till  Shakro  exclaimed  angrily :    "Enough  !    Enough  V* 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  225 

Exhausted  with  the  struggle,  we  sat  in  silence  for 
some  time,  facing  each  other.  Shakro  glanced  cov- 
etously toward  the  spot,  where  I  had  flung  the  red  mus- 
lin, and  said : 

"What  were  we  fighting  about  ?  Fa — Fa — Fa  !  It's 
very  stupid.  I  did  not  steal  it  from  you,  did  I  ?  Why 
should  you  care?  I  was  sorry  for  you  that  is  why  I 
took  the  linen.  You  have  to  work  so  hard,  and  I  cannot 
help  you  in  that  way,  so  I  thought  I  would  help  you  by 
stealing.    Tse !    Tse ! 

I  made  an  attempt  to  explain  to  him  how  wrong  it 
was  to  steal. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  please !  You're  a  blockhead !" 
he  exclaimed  contemptuously ;  then  added :  "When  one 
is  dying  of  hunger,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  steal; 
what  sort  of  a  life  is  this?" 

I  was  silent,  afraid  of  rousing  his  anger  again.  This 
was  the  second  time  he  had  committed  a  theft.  Some 
time  before,  when  we  were  tramping  along  the  shores  of 
the  Black  Sea,  he  stole  a  watch  belonging  to  a  fisher- 
man.   We  had  nearly  come  to  blows  then. 

^'Well,  come  along,"  he  said ;  when,  after  a  short  rest, 
we  had  once  more  grown  quiet  and  friendly. 

So  we  trudged  on.  Eax^h  day  made  him  grow  more 
gloomy,  and  he  looked  at  me  strangely,  from  under  his 
brows. 

As  we  walked  over  the  Darial  Pass,  he  remarked: 
"Another  day  or  two  will  bring  us  to  Tiflis.  Tse! 
Tse !" 

He  clicked  his  tongue,  and  his  face  beamed  with 
delight. 


226  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

*^hen  I  get  home,  they  will  ask  me  where  I  have 
been?  I  shall  tell  them  I  have  been  travelling.  The 
first  thing  I  shall  do  will  be  to  take  a  nice  bath.  I 
shall  eat  a  lot.  Oh !  what  a  lot.  I  have  only  to  tell  my 
mother  *I  am  hungry !'  My  father  will  forgive  when  I 
tell  him  how  much  trouble  and  sorrow  I  have  under- 
gone. Tramps  are  a  good  sort  of  people !  Whenever  I 
meet  a  tramp,  I  shall  always  give  him  a  rouble,  and  take 
him  to  the  beer-house,  and  treat  him  to  some  wine.  I 
shall  tell  him  I  was  a  tramp  myself  once.  I  shall  tell 
my  father  all  about  you.  I  shall  say:  'This  man — ^he 
was  like  an  elder  brother  to  me.  He  lectured  me,  and 
beat  me,  the  dog!  He  fed  me,  and  now,  I  shall  say, 
you  must  feed  him.'  I  shall  tell  him  to  feed  you  for  a 
whole  year.    Do  you  hear  that,  Maxime?" 

I  liked  to  hear  him  talk  in  this  strain ;  at  those  times 
he  seemed  so  simple,  so  child-like.  His  words  were  all 
the  more  pleasant  because  I  had  not  a  single  friend  in 
all  Tiflis.  Winter  was  approaching.  We  had  already 
been  caught  in  a  snowstorm  in  the  Goudaour  hills.  I 
reckoned  somewhat  on  Shakro's  promises.  We  walked 
on  rapidly  till  we  reached  Mesket,  the  ancient  capital 
of  Iberia.    The  next  day  we  hoped  to  be  in  Tiflis. 

I  caught  sight  of  the  capital  of  the  Caucasus  in  the 
distance,  as  it  lay  some  five  versts  farther  on,  nestling 
between  two  high  hills.  The  end  of  our  journey  was 
fast  approaching !  I  was  rejoicing,  but  Shakro  was  in- 
different. With  a  vacant  look  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
distance,  and  began  spitting  on  one  side ;  while  he  kept 
rubbing  his  stomach  with  a  grimace  of  pain.  The  pain 
in  his  stomach   was  caused   by   his  having   eaten   too 


MY  FELLOW-TEAVELLER  227 

many  raw  carrots,  which  he  had  pulled  up  by  the 
wayside. 

*T)o  you  think  I,  a  nobleman  of  Georgia,  will  show 
myself  in  my  native  town,  torn  and  dirty  as  I  am  now  ? 
No,  indeed,  that  I  never  could !  We  must  wait  outside 
till  night.     Let  us  rest  here." 

We  twisted  up  a  couple  of  cigarettes  from  our  last  bit 
of  tobacco,  and,  shivering  with  cold,  we  sat  down  under 
the  walls  of  a  deserted  building  to  have  a  smoke.  The 
piercing  cold  wind  seemed  to  cut  through  our  bodies. 
Shakro  sat  humming  a  melancholy  song ;  while  I  fell  to 
picturing  to  myself  a  warm  room,  and  other  advan- 
tages of  a  settled  life  over  a  wandering  existence. 

"Let  us  move  on  now !"  said  Shakro  resolutely. 

It  had  now  become  dark.  The  lights  were  twinkling 
down  below  in  the  town.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  watch 
them  flashing  one  after  the  other,  out  of  the  mist  of 
the  valley,  where  the  town  lay  hidden. 

"Look  here,  you  give  me  your  bashleek,*  I  want  to 
cover  my  face  up  with  it.  My  friends  might  recog- 
nize me." 

I  gave  him  my  bashleek.  We  were  already  in  Olga 
Street,  and  Shakro  was  whistling  boldly. 

"Maxime,  do  you  see  that  bridge  over  yonder?  The 
tram  stops  there.  Go  and  wait  for  me  there,  please.  I 
want  first  to  go  and  ask  a  friend,  who  lives  close  by, 
about  my  father  and  mother." 

"You  won't  be  long,  will  you  ?" 

"Only  a  minute.    Not  more !" 


♦  A  kind  of  hood  worn  by  m«i  to  ke^  their  ears  warm. 


228  CKEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

He  plunged  rapidly  down  the  nearest  dark,  narrow 
lane,  and  disappeared — disappeared  for  ever. 

I  never  met  him  again — the  man  who  was  my  fellow- 
traveller  for  nearly  four  long  months ;  but  I  often  think 
of  him  with  a  good-humored  feeling,  and  light-hearted 
laughter. 

He  taught  me  much  that  one  does  not  find  in  the 
thick  volumes  of  wise  philosophers,  for  the  wisdom  of 
life  is  always  deeper  and  wider  than  the  wisdom  of 
men. 


ON  A   RAFT 

Heavy  clouds  drift  slowly  across  the  sleepy  river  and 
hang  every  moment  lower  and  thicker.  In  the  distance 
their  ragged  gray  edges  seem  almost  to  touch  the  sur- 
face of  the  rapid  and  muddy  waters,  swollen  by  the 
floods  of  spring,  and  there,  where  they  touch,  an  im- 
penetrable wall  rises  to  the  skies,  barring  the  flow  of 
the  river  and  the  passage  of  the  raft. 

The  stream,  swirling  against  this  wall — washing 
vainly  against  it  with  a  wistful  wailing  swish — seems  to 
be  thrown  back  on  itself,  and  then  to  hasten  away  on 
either  side,  where  lies  the  moist  fog  of  a  dark  spring 
night. 

The  raft  floats  onward,  and  the  distance  opens  out 
before  it  into  heavy  cloud — ^massed  space.  The  banks 
of  the  rivers  are  invisible;  darkness  covers  them,  and 
the  lapping  waves  of  a  spring  flood  seem  to  have  washed 
them  into  space. 

The  river  below  has  spread  into  a  sea;  while  the 
229 


230   CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

heavens  above,  swatched  in  cloud  masses,  hang  heavy, 
humid,  and  leaden.* 

There  is  no  atmosphere,  no  color  in  this  gray  blurred 
picture. 

The  raft  glides  down  swiftly  and  noiselessly,  while 
out  of  the  darkness  appears,  suddenly  bearing  down 
on  it,  a  steamer,  pouring  from  its  funnels  a  merry  crowd 
of  sparks,  and  churning  up  the  water  with  the  paddles 
of  its  great  revolving  wheels. 

The  two  red  forward  lights  gleam  every  moment 
larger  and  brighter,  and  the  mast-head  lantern  sways 
slowly  from  side  to  side,  as  if  winking  mysteriously 
at  the  night.  The  distance  is  filled  with  the  noise  of  the 
troubled  water,  and  the  heavy  thud-thud  of  the  engines. 

'Tliook  ahead !"  is  heard  from  the  raft.  The  voice  is 
that  of  a  deep-chested  man. 

Two  men  are  standing  aft,  grasping  each  a  long  pole, 
"which  propel  the  raft  and  act  as  rudders ;  Mitia,  the  son 


*  The  river  is  the  Volga,  and  the  passage  of  strings  of 
rafts  down  its  stream  in  early  spring  is  being  described  by 
the  author.  The  allusion  later  on  to  the  Brotherhood  living 
in  the  Caucasus,  refers  to  the  persecuted  Doukhobori,  who 
have  since  been  driven  from  their  homes  by  the  Russian 
authorities  and  have  taken  refuge  in  Canada. 

In  order  to  enter  into  the  sociology  of  this  story  of 
Gorky's  it  must  be  explained  that  among  ancient  Russian 
folk-customs,  as  the  young  peasants  were  married  at  a  very 
early  age,  the  father  of  the  bridegroom  considered  he  had 
rights  over  his  daughter-in-law.  In  later  times,  this  cus- 
tom, although  occasionally  continued,  was  held  in  disrepute 
among  the  peasantry;  but  that  it  has  not  entirely  died  out 
is  proved  by  the  little  drama  sketched  in  by  the  hand  of  a 
genius  in  "On  a  Raft." 


ON  A  RAFT  231 

of  the  owner,  a  fair,  weak,  melancholy-looking  lad  of 
twenty-two;  and  Sergei,  a  peasant,  hired  to  help  in  the 
work  on  board  the  raft,  a  bluff,  healthy,  red-bearded  fel- 
low, whose  upper  lip,  raised  with  a  mocking  sneer,  dis- 
closes a  mouth  filled  with  large,  strong  teeth. 

"Starboard  V  A  second  cry  vibrates  through  the 
darkness  ahead  of  the  rafts. 

*^hat  are  you  shouting  for ;  we  know  our  business !" 
Sergei  growls  raspingly;  pressing  his  expanded  chest 
against  the  pole.  "Ouch !  Pull  harder,  Mitia  \"  Mitia 
pushes  with  his  feet  against  the  damp  planks  that  form 
the  raft,  and  with  his  thin  hands  draws  toward  him  the 
heavy  steering  pole,  coughing  hoarsely  the  while. 

"Harder,  to  starboard  !  You  cursed  loafers  V*  The 
master  cries  again,  anger  and  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"Shout  away  \"  mutters  Sergei.  "Here's  your  miser- 
able devil  of  a  son,  who  couldn't  break  a  straw  across 
his  knee,  and  you  put  him  to  steer  a  raft;  and  then 
you  yell  so  that  all  the  river  hears  you.  You  were 
mean  enough  not  to  take  a  second  steersman;  so  now 
you  may  tear  your  throat  to  pieces  shouting!'* 

These  last  words  were  growled  out  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  forward,  and  as  if  Sergei  wished  they  should 
be  heard. 

The  steamer  passed  rapidly  alongside  the  raft  sweep- 
ing the  frothing  water  from  under  her  paddle  wheels. 
The  planks  tossed  up  and  down  in  the  wash,  and  the 
osier  branches  fastening  them  together,  groaned  and 
scraped  vrith  a  moist,  plaintive  sound. 

The  lit-up  portholes  of  the  steamer  seem  for  a  mo- 
ment to  rake  the  raft  and  the  river  with  fiery  eyes,  re- 


S33  CEEATURES  THAT  ONCE  WEEE  MEN 

fleeted  in  the  seething  water,  like  luminous  trembling 
spots.    Then  all  disappears. 

The  wash  of  the  steamer  sweeps  backward  and  for- 
ward, over  the  raft;  the  planks  dance  up  and  down. 
Mitia,  swaying  with  the  movements  of  the  water, 
clutches  convulsively  the  steering  pole  to  save  himself 
from  falling. 

*'Well,  well,"  says  Sergei,  laughing.  "So  you're  be- 
ginning to  dance !  Your  father  will  start  yelling  again. 
Or  he'll  perhaps  come  and  give  you  one  or  two  in  the 
ribs ;  then  you'll  dance  to  another  tune !  Port  side 
now !     Ouch !" 

And  with  his  muscles  strung  like  steel  springs, 
Sergei  gives  a  powerful  push  to  his  pole,  forcing  it 
deep  down  into  the  water.  Energetic,  tall,  mocking 
and  rather  malicious,  he  stands  bare-footed,  rigid,  as 
if  a  part  of  the  planks;  looking  straight  ahead,  ready 
at  any  moment  to  change  the  direction  of  the  raft. 

"Just  look  there  at  your  father  kissing  Marka ! 
Aren't  they  a  pair  of  devils?  No  shame,  and  no  con- 
science. Why  don't  you  get  away  from  them,  Mitia 
— away  from  these  Pagan  pigs?  Why?  Do  you 
hear?" 

"I  hear,"  answered  Mitia  in  a  stifled  voice,  without 
looking  toward  the  spot  which  Sergei  pointed  to 
through  the  darkness,  where  the  form  of  Mitia's  father 
could  be  seen. 

"I  hear,"  mocked  Sergei,  laughing  ironically. 

'TTou  poor  half-baked  creature !  A  pleasant  state  of 
things  indeed !"  he  continued,  encouraged  by  the  apathy 
of  Mitia.     "And  what  a  devil  that  old  man  is !     He 


ON  A  RAFT  23a 

finds  a  wife  for  his  son ;  he  takes  the  son*s  wife  away 
from  him ;  and  all's  well !    The  old  brute !" 

Mitia  is  silent,  and  looks  astern  up  the  river,  where 
another  wall  of  mist  is  formed.  Now  the  clouds  close 
in  all  round,  and  the  raft  hardly  appears  to  move,  but 
to  be  standing  still  in  the  thick,  dark  water,  crushed 
down  by  the  heavy  gray-black  vaporous  masses,  which 
drift  across  the  heavens,  and  bar  the  way. 

The  whole  river  seems  like  a  fathomless,  hidden 
whirlpool,  surrounded  by  immense  mountains,  rising 
toward  heaven,  and  capped  with  shrouding  mists. 

The  stillness  suffocates,  and  the  water  seems  spell- 
bound with  expectation,  as  it  beats  softly  against  the 
raft.  A  great  sadness,  and  a  timid  questioning  is  heard 
in  that  faint  sound — the  only  voice  of  the  night — accen- 
tuating still  more  the  silence.  "We  want  a  little  wind 
now,"  says  Sergei.  "No  it's  not  exactly  wind  we  want — 
that  would  bring  rain,"  he  replies  to  himself,  as  he 
begins  to  fill  his  pipe.  A  match  strikes,  and  the  bub- 
bling sound  of  a  pipe  being  lighted  is  heard.  A  red 
gleam  appears,  throwing  a  glow  over  the  big  face  of 
Sergei;  and  then,  as  the  light  dies  down  he  is  lost 
in  the  darkness. 

"Mitia !"  he  cries.  His  voice  is  now  less  brutal  and 
more  mocking. 

"What  is  it?"  replies  Mitia,  without  moving  his  gaze 
from  the  distance,  where  he  seems  with  his  big  sad  eyes 
to  be  searching  for  something. 

"How  did  it  happen,  mate  ?    How  did  it  happen  ?" 

"What?"  answers  Mitia,  displeased. 

"How  did  you  come  to  marry  ?    What  a  queer  set  out ! 


234  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

How  was  it  ?    You  brought  your  wife  home ! — and  then  ? 
Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

''What  are  you  cackling  about?  Look  out  there!" 
came  threateningly  across  the  river. 

"Damned  beast !"  ejaculates  with  delight  Sergei ;  and 
returns  to  the  theme  that  interests  him.  "Come,  Mitia; 
tell  me ;  tell  me  at  once — why  not  ?" 

"Leave  me  alone,  Sergei,"  Mitia  murmurs  entreat- 
ingly;  "I  told  you  once." 

But  knowing  by  experience  that  Sergei  will  not  leave 
him  in  peace,  he  begins  hurriedly:  "Well,  I  brought 
her  home — and  I  told  her:  'I  can't  be  your  husband, 
Marka;  you  are  a  strong  girl,  and  I  am  a  feeble,  sick 
man.  I  didn't  wish  at  all  to  marry  you,  but  my  father 
would  force  me  to  marry.'  He  was  always  saying  to  me, 
'Get  married!  Get  married!'  I  don't  like  women,  I 
said :  and  you  especially,  you  are  too  bold.  Yes — and  I 
can't  have  anything  to  do — ^with  it.  Do  you  under- 
stand? For  me,  it  disgusts  me,  and  it  is  a  sin.  And 
children — one  is  answerable  to  God  for  one's  children." 

"Disgusts,"  yells  Sergei  and  laughs.  "Well !  and  what 
did  Marka  reply?     What?" 

"She  said,  'What  shall  I  do  now  ?'  and  then  she  began 
to  cry.  'What  have  you  got  against  me?  Am  I  so 
dreadfully  ugly  ?'  She  is  shameless,  Sergei,  and  wicked ! 
*With  all  this  health  and  strength  of  mine,  must  I  go 
to  my  father-in-law  ?'  And  I  answered :  'If  you  like — 
go  where  you  wish,  but  I  can't  act  against  my  soul.  If 
I  had  love  for  you,  well  and  good;  but  being  as  it  is, 
liow  is  it  possible  ?  Father  Ivan  says  it's  the  deadliest 
sin.    We  are  not  beasts,  are  we  V    She  went  on  crying : 


ON  A  RAFT  235 

*You  have  rained  my  chances  in  life  !*  And  I  pitied  her 
very  much.  'It's  nothing,'  I  said ;  'things  will  come  all 
right.  Or/  I  continued,  'you  can  go  into  a  convent.' 
And  she  began  to  insult  me.  'You  are  a  stupid  fool, 
Mitia ! — a  coward  !'  " 

"Well,  I'm  blest!"  exclaims  Sergei,  in  a  delighted 
whisper.  "So  you  told  her  straight  to  go  into  a  con- 
vent?" 

"Yes,  I  told  her  to  go,"  answers  Mitia  simply. 

"And  she  told  you  you  were  a  fool?"  queried  Sergei, 
raising  his  voice. 

"Yes,  she  insulted  me." 

"And  she  was  right,  my  friend ;  yes,  indeed,  she  was 
right !  You  deserve  a  proper  hammering."  And  Sergei, 
changing  suddenly  his  tone,  continued  with  severity  and 
authority :  "Have  you  any  right  to  go  against  the  law  ? 
But  you  did  go  against  it!  Things  are  arranged  in  a 
certain  way,  and  it's  no  use  going  against  them !  You 
mustn't  even  discuss  them.  But  what  did  you  do? 
You  got  some  maggot  into  your  head.  A  convent,  in- 
deed !  Silly  fool !  What  did  the  girl  want  ?  Did  she 
want  your  convent  ?  What  a  set  of  muddle-headed  fools 
there  seems  to  be  now !  Just  think  what's  happened ! 
You,  you're  neither  fish  nor  fowl,  nor  good  red-herring. 
And  the  girl's  done  for !  She's  living  with  an  old  man ! 
And  you  drove  the  old  man  into  sin !  How  many  laws 
have  you  broken  ?    You  clever  head  !" 

"Law,  Sergei,  is  in  the  soul.  There  is  one  law  for 
everyone.  Don't  do  things  that  are  against  your  soul, 
and  you  will  do  no  evil  on  the  earth,"  answered  Mitia, 
in  a  slow,  conciliatory  tone,  and  nodding  his  head. 


236     CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

"But  you  did  do  evil/'  answered  Sergei,  energetically. 
**In  the  soul !  A  fine  idea !  There  are  many  things  in 
the  soul.  Certain  things  must  be  forbidden.  The  soul, 
the  soul !  You  must  first  understand  it,  my  friend,  and 
then " 

"No,  it's  not  so,  Sergei,"  replied  Mitia  with  warmth, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  inspired,  "The  soul,  my  friend, 
is  always  as  clear  as  dew.  It's  true,  its  voice  lies  deep 
down  within  us,  and  is  difficult  to  hear ;  but  if  we  listen, 
we  can  never  be  mistaken.  If  we  act  according  to  what 
is  in  our  soul,  we  shall  always  act  according  to  the  will 
of  God.  God  is  in  the  soul,  and,  therefore,  the  law  must 
be  in  it.  The  soul  was  created  by  God,  and  breathed  by 
God  into  man.  We  have  only  to  learn  to  look  into  it — 
and  we  must  look  into  it  without  sparing  our  own 
feelings." 

"You  sleepy  devils  !  Look  ahead  there !"  The  voice 
thundered  from  the  forward  part  of  the  raft,  and 
swept  back  down  the  river.  In  the  strength  of  the  sound 
one  could  recognize  that  the  owner  of  the  voice  was 
healthy,  energetic,  and  pleased  with  himself.  A  man 
with  large  and  conscious  vitality.  He  shouted,  not  be- 
cause he  had  to  give  a  necessary  order  to  the  steersmen, 
but  because  his  soul  was  full  of  life  and  strength,  and 
this  life  and  strength  wanted  to  find  free  expression,  so 
it  rushed  forth  in  that  thunderous  and  forceful  sound. 

"Listen  to  the  old  blackguard  shouting,"  continued 
Sergei  with  delight,  looking  ahead  with  a  piercing 
glance,  and  smiling.  "Look  at  them  billing  and  cooing 
like  a  pair  of  doves  !    Don't  you  ever  envy  them,  Mitia  ?" 

Mitia  watched  with  indifference  the  working  of  the 


ON  A  KAFT  237 

two  forward  oars,  held  by  two  figures  who  moved  back- 
ward and  forward,  forming  sometimes  as  they  touched 
each  other  one  compact  and  dark  mass. 

"So  you  say  you  don't  envy  them  ?"  repeated  Sergei. 

"What  is  it  to  me  ?  It's  their  sin,  and  they  must  an- 
swer for  it/'  rephed  Mitia  quietly. 

"Hm !"  ironically  interjected  Sergei,  while  he  filled 
his  pipe. 

Once  more  the  small  red  patch  of  light  glowed  in  the 
darkness;  and  the  night  grew  thicker,  and  the  gray 
clouds  sank  lower  toward  the  swollen  river. 

^HtVhere  did  you  get  hold  of  that  fine  stuff,  or  does 
it  come  to  you  naturally  ?  But  you  don't  take  after  your 
father,  my  lad !  Your  father's  a  fine  old  chap.  Look  at 
him !  He's  fifty-two  now,  and  see  what  a  strapping 
wench  he's  carrying  on  with !  She's  as  fine  a  woman 
as  ever  wore  shoe-leather.  And  she  loves  him ;  it's  no 
use  denying  it !  She  loves  him,  my  lad !  One  can't 
help  admiring  him,  he's  such  a  trump,  your  father — he's 
the  king  of  trumps !  When  he's  at  work,  it's  worth 
while  watching  him.  And  then,  he's  rich !  And  then, 
look  how  he's  respected !  And  his  head's  screwed  on  the 
right  way.  Yes.  And  you  ?  You're  not  a  bit  like  either 
your  father  or  your  mother?  What  would  your  father 
have  done,  Mitia,  do  you  think,  if  old  Anfisa  had  lived  ? 
That  would  have  been  a  good  joke !  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  seen  how  she's  have  settled  him !  She  was  the 
right  sort  of  woman,  your  mother !  a  real  plucky  one, 
she  was  !    They  were  well  matched  ! ' ' 

Mitia  remained  silent,  leaning  on  the  pole,  and  star- 
ing at  the  water. 


238  CREATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

Sergei  ceased  talking.  Forward  on  the  raft  was  heard 
a  woman's  shrill  laugh,  followed  by  the  deeper  laugh  of 
a  man.  Their  figures,  blurred  by  the  mist,  were  nearly 
invisible  to  Sergei,  who,  however,  watched  them  curi- 
ously. The  man  appeared  as  a  tall  figure,  standing  with 
legs  wide  apart,  holding  a  pole,  and  half  turned  toward 
a  shorter  woman's  figure,  leaning  on  another  pole,  and 
standing  a  few  paces  away.  She  shook  her  forefinger 
at  the  man,  and  giggled  provokingly. 

Sergei  turned  away  his  head  with  a  sigh,  and  after 
a  few  moment's  silence  began  to  speak  again. 

"Confound  it  all,  but  how  jolly  they  seem  together; 
it's  good  to  see !  Why  can't  I  have  something  like  that  ? 
I,  a  waif  and  a  stray !  I'd  never  leave  such  a  woman ! 
I'd  always  have  my  arms  round  her,  and  there'd  be  no 
mistake  about  my  loving  the  little  devil !  I've  never  had 
any  luck  with  women !  They  don't  like  ginger  hair — 
women  don't.  No.  She's  a  woman  with  fancies,  she  is ! 
She's  a  sly  little  devil !  She  wants  to  see  life  !  Are  you 
asleep,  Mitia?" 

"No,"  answered  Mitia  quietly. 

*^ell,  how  are  you  going  to  live  ?  To  tell  the  truth, 
you're  as  solitary  as  a  post !  That  seems  pretty  hard ! 
Where  can  you  go  ?  You  can't  earn  your  living  among 
strangers.  You're  too  absurd !  What's  the  use  of  a 
man  who  can't  stand  up  for  himself?  A  man's  got  to 
have  teeth  and  claws  in  this  world !  They'll  all  have  a 
go  at  you.  Can  you  stick  up  for  yourself  ?  How  would 
you  set  about  it?  Damn  it  all;  where  the  devil  could 
you  go?" 

"I,"  said  Mitia,  suddenly  arousing  herseK ;  "I  shall  go 


ON  A  RAFT  239 

away.  I  shall  go  in  the  autumn  to  the  Caucasian  Moun- 
tains, and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it  all.  My  God !  If 
only  I  could  get  away  from  you  all !  Soulless,  godless 
men !  To  get  away  from  you,  that's  my  only  hope ! 
What  do  you  live  for  ?  Where  is  your  God  ?  He's  noth- 
ing but  a  name!  Do  you  live  in  Christ?  You  are 
wolves ;  that's  what  you  are  !  But  over  there  live  other 
men,  whose  souls  live  in  Christ.  Their  hearts  contain 
love,  and  they  are  athirst  for  the  salvation  of  the  world. 
But  you — you  are  beasts,  spewing  out  filth.  But  other 
men  there  are;  I  have  seen  them;  they  called  me,  and 
I  must  go  to  them.  They  gave  me  the  book  of  Holy 
Writ,  and  they  said :  'Read,  man  of  God,  our  beloved 
brother,  read  the  word  of  truth !'  And  I  read,  and  my 
soul  was  renewed  by  the  word  of  God.  I  shall  go  away. 
I  shall  leave  all  you  ravening  wolves.  You  are  rending 
each  other's  flesh !    Accursed  be  ye !" 

Mitia  spoke  in  a  passionate  whisper,  as  if  overpowered 
by  the  intensity  of  his  contemplative  rapture,  his  anger 
with  the  ravening  wolves,  and  his  desire  to  be  with  those 
other  men,  whose  souls  aspired  toward  the  salvation  of 
the  world.  Sergei  was  taken  aback.  He  remained  quiet 
for  some  time,  open-mouthed,  holding  his  pipe  in  his 
hand.  After  a  few  moments'  thought  he  glanced  round, 
and  said  in  a  deep,  rough  voice :  "Damn  it  all !  Why 
you're  turned  a  bad  'un  all  at  once !  Why  did  you  read 
that  book?  It  was  very  likely  an  evil  one.  Woll,  be 
off,  be  off !  If  not,  there'll  be  an  end  of  you !  Be  off 
with  you  before  you  become  a  regular  beast  yourself ! 
And  who  are  these  fellows  in  the  Caucasus?  Monks? 
Or  what  ?" 


240  CEEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

But  the  fire  of  Mitia's  spirit  died  down  as  quickly  as 
it  had  been  kindled  to  a  flame ;  he  gasped  with  the  exer- 
tion as  he  worked  the  pole,  and  muttered  to  himself 
below  his  breath. 

Sergei  waited  some  time  for  the  answer  which  did 
not  come.  His  simple,  hardy  nature  was  quelled  by  the 
grim  and  death-like  stillness  of  the  night.  He  wanted 
to  recall  the  fullness  of  life,  to  wake  the  solitude  with 
sound,  to  disturb  and  trouble  the  hidden  meditative 
silence  of  the  leaden  mass  of  water,  flowing  slowly  to  the 
sea ;  and  of  the  dull,  threatening  clouds  hanging  motion- 
less in  the  air.  At  the  other  end  of  the  raft  there  was 
life,  and  it  called  on  him  to  live. 

Forward,  he  could  hear  every  now  and  then  bursts 
of  contented  laughter,  exclamations,  sounds  that  seemed 
to  stand  out  against  the  silence  of  this  night,  laden  with 
the  breath  of  spring,  and  provoking  such  passionate  life 
desires. 

"Hold  hard,  Mitia !  you'll  catch  it  again  from  the  old 
man !  Look  out  there !"  said  Sergei,  who  could  not 
stand  the  silence  any  longer;  and  watching  Mitia,  who 
aimlessly  moved  his  pole  backward  and  forward  in  the 
water. 

Mitia,  wiping  his  moist  brow,  stood  quietly  leaning 
with  his  breast  against  the  pole,  and  panting. 

"There  are  few  steamers  to-night,"  continued  Sergei; 
"we've  only  passed  one  these  many  hours."  Seeing  that 
Mitia  had  no  intention  of  answering,  Sergei  replied 
quietly  to  himself:  "It's  because  its  too  early  in  the 
season.  It's  only  just  beginning.  We  shall  soon  be  at 
Kazan.     The  Volga  pulls  hard.     She  has   a  mighty 


ON  A  EAFT  241 

strong  back,  that  can  carry  all.  Why  are  you  standing 
still  like  that  ?    Are  you  angry  ?    Hi,  there,  Mitia !" 

*^Vhat's  the  matter  ?"  Mitia  cried  in  a  vexed  tone. 

"Nothing,  you  strange  fellow ;  but  why  can't  you  talk  ? 
You  are  always  thinking.  Leave  it  alone !  Thinking 
is  bad  for  a  man.  A  wise  sort  of  fellow  you  are !  You 
think  and  think,  and  all  the  time  you  can't  understand 
that  you're  a  fool  at  bottom.    Ha  !    Ha !" 

And  Sergei,  very  well  satisfied  with  his  own  supe- 
riority, cleared  his  throat,  remained  quiet  for  a  mo- 
ment, whistled  a  note,  and  then  continued  to  develop 
his  theme. 

"Thinking?  Is  that  an  occupation  for  a  working 
man  ?  Look  at  your  father ;  he  doesn't  think  much ;  he 
lives.  He  loves  your  wife,  and  they  laugh  at  you  to- 
gether ;  you  wise  fool !  That's  about  it !  Just  listen  to 
them!  Blast  them!  I  believe  Marka's  already  with 
child.  Never  fear,  the  child  won't  feature  you.  He'll  be 
a  fine,  lusty  lad,  like  Silan  himself !  But  he'll  be  your 
child  !  Ha !  Ha  !  Ha !  He'll  call  you  father !  And  you 
won't  be  his  father,  but  his  brother ;  and  his  real  father 
will  be  his  grandfather !  That's  a  nice  state  of  things ! 
What  a  filthy  family!  But  they're  a  strapping  pair! 
Isn't  that  true,  Mitia?" 

"Sergei !"  In  a  passionate,  sobbing  whisper.  "In  the 
name  of  Christ  I  entreat  you  don't  tear  my  soul  to 
pieces,  don't  brand  me  with  fire.  Leave  me  alone.  Do 
be  quiet !  In  the  name  of  God  and  of  Christ,  I  beg  yo» 
not  to  speak  to  me  !  Don't  disturb  me !  Don't  drain  my 
heart's  blood !  I'll  throw  myself  in  the  river,  and  yours 
will  be  the  sin,  and  a  great  sin  it  will  be !    I  should  lose 


342  CKEATUEES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

my  soul;  don't  force  me  to  it!  For  God's  sake,  I 
entreat  you !" 

The  silence  of  the  night  was  troubled  with  shrill,  un- 
/natural  sobbing;  and  Mitia  fell  on  the  deck  of  the  raft, 
as  if  a  blast  from  the  overhanging  clouds  had  struck  him 
down. 

"Come,  come !"  growled  Sergei,  anxiously  watching 
his  mate  writhing  on  the  deck,  as  if  scorched  with  fire. 
"What  a  strange  man !  He  ought  to  have  told  me  if  it 
was  not — if  it  was  not  quite " 

"You've  been  torturing  me  all  the  way.  Why?  Am 
I  your  enemy  ?"  Mitia  sobbed  again. 

"Tou're  a  strange  lad !  a  rum  im !"  murmured  Ser- 
gei, confused  and  offended.  "How  could  I  know?  I 
couldn't  tell  you'd  take  on  like  that!" 

*TJnderstand,  then,  that  I  want  to  forget !  To  forget 
for  ever!  My  shame,  my  terrible  torture.  You're  a 
cruel  lot!  I  shall  go  away,  and  stay  away  for  ever! 
I  can't  stand  it  any  more !" 

*'Yes,  be  off  with  you !"  cried  Sergei  across  the  raft, 
accentuating  his  exclamation  with  a  loud  and  cynical 
curse.  Then  he  seemed  to  shrink  together,  as  if  himself 
afraid  of  the  terrible  drama  which  was  unfolding  itself 
before  him;  drama,  which  he  was  now  compelled  to 
imderstand.  .    .    . 

"Hullo  !  There  !  I'm  calling  you !  Are  you  deaf  V* 
sounded  up  the  river  the  voice  of  Silan.  "What  are 
you  about  there  ?  What  are  you  bawling  about  ?  Ahoy  1 
Ahoy !" 

It  seemed  as  if  Silan  enjoyed  shouting,  and  breaking 
the  heavy  silence  of  the  river  with  his  deep  voice,  full 


ON  A  BAFT  243 

of  strength  and  health.  The  cries  succeeded  each  other, 
thrilling  the  warm,  moist  air,  and  seeming  to  crash 
down  on  Mitia's  feeble  form.  He  rose,  and  once  more 
pressed  his  body  against  the  steering  pole.  Sergei 
shouted  in  reply  to  the  master  with  all  his  strength,  and 
cursed  him  at  the  same  time  under  his  breath. 

The  two  voices  broke  through  and  filled  the  silence 
of  the  night.  Then  they  seemed  to  meet  in  one  deep 
note  like  the  sound  of  a  great  horn.  Once  more  rising 
to  shrillness,  they  floated  in  the  air,  gradually  sank 
away — and  were  lost. 

Silence  reigned  once  more. 

Through  the  cleft  clouds,  on  the  dark  water  the  yel- 
low splashes  of  moonlight  fell,  and  after  glittering  a 
moment  disappeared,  swept  away  in  the  moist  gloom. 

The  raft  continued  on  its  way  down  stream  amid 
silence  and  darkness. 

CHAPTER  II 

Neab  one  of  the  forward  poles  stood  Silan  Petroff 
in  a  red  shirt,  open  at  the  neck,  showing  his  powerful 
throat  and  hairy  chest,  hard  as  an  anvil.  A  thatch  of 
gray  hair  fell  over  his  forehead,  under  which  laughed 
great  black,  warm  eyes.  His  sleeves,  turned  up  to  the 
elbow,  showed  the  veins  standing  out  on  his  arms  as 
they  held  the  pole.  Silan  was  leaning  slightly  forward, 
and  looking  watchfully  ahead.  Marka  stood  a  few  paces 
from  him,  glancing  with  a  satisfied  smile  at  the  strong 
form  of  her  lover.  They  were  both  silent  and  busy  with 
their  several  thoughts.     He  was  peering  into  the  dis- 


244     CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

tance,  and  she  followed  the  movements  of  his  virile, 
bearded  face. 

"That  must  be  a  fisherman's  fire,"  said  he,  turning 
toward   her. 

"It's  all  right;  we're  keeping  on  our  course.  Ouch!" 
And  he  puffed  out  a  full,  hot  breath,  and  gave  a  power- 
ful shove  with  his  pole. 

"Don't  tire  yourself  Mashourka,"  he  continued,  watch- 
ing her,  as  with  her  pole  she  made  a  skilful  movement. 

She  was  round  and  plump,  with  black,  bright  eyes 
and  ruddy  cheeks;  barefooted,  dressed  only  in  a  damp 
petticoat,  which  clung  to  her  body,  and  showed  the  out- 
line of  her  figure.  She  turned  her  face  to  Silan  and, 
smiling  pleasantly,  said:  "You  take  too  much  care  of 
me ;  I'm  all  right !" 

"I  kiss  you,  but  I  don't  take  care  of  you,"  answered 
Silan,  moving  his  shoulders. 

"That's  not  good  enough !"  she  replied,  provokingly ; 
and  they  both  were  silent,  looking  at  each  other  with 
desiring  eyes. 

Under  the  rafts,  the  water  gurgled  musically.  On 
the  right  bank,  very  far  off,  a  cock  crew.  Swaying 
lightly  under  their  feet,  the  raft  floated  on  toward  a 
point  where  the  darkness  dissolved  into  lighter  tones, 
and  the  clouds  took  on  themselves  clearer  shapes  and 
less  sombre  hues. 

"Silan  Petrovitch,  do  you  know  what  they  were  shout- 
ing about  there?  I  know,  I  bet  you  I  know.  It  was 
Mitia  who  was  complaining  about  us  to  Sergei;  and  it 
was  he  who  cried  out  with  trouble,  and  Sergei  was 
cursing  us !" 


ON  A  EAFT  245 

Marka  questioned  anxiously  Silan's  face,  which,  after 
her  words,  became  grim  and  coldly  stubborn. 

*^ell !"  shortly. 

'^ell,  that's  all !" 

"If  that's  all,  there  was  nothing  to  say.** 

*T)on't  get  angry." 

"Angry  with  you?  I  should  like  to  be  angry  with 
you,  but  I  can't." 

"You  love  Marsha?"  she  whispered,  coaxingly  lean- 
ing toward  him. 

"You  bet!"  answered  Silan,  with  emphasis,  stretch- 
ing out  toward  her  his  powerful  arms.  "Come  now, 
don't  tease  me!" 

She  twisted  her  body  with  the  movements  of  a  cat, 
and  once  more  leaned  toward  him. 

"We  shall  upset  the  steering  again,"  whispered  he, 
kissing  her  face  which  burned  under  his  lips. 

"Shut  up  now !  They  can  see  us  at  the  other  end ;" 
and  motioning  aft  with  her  head,  she  struggled  to  free 
herself,  but  he  held  her  more  tightly  still  with  one  arm, 
and  managed  the  pole  with  the  other  hand. 

"They  can  see  us  ?  Let  them  see  us.  I  spit  on  them 
all !  I'm  sinning,  that's  true ;  I  know  it ;  and  shall  have 
to  answer  for  it  to  God;  but  still  you  never  were  his 
wife;  you  were  free;  you  belonged  to  yourself.  He's 
suffering,  I  know.  And  what  about  me?  Is  my  posi- 
tion a  pleasant  one?  It  is  true  that  you  were  not  his 
wife;  but  all  the  same,  with  my  position,  how  must  I 
feel  now?  Is  it  not  a  dreadful  sin  before  God?  It 
is  a  sin!  I  know  it  all,  and  I've  gone  through  every- 
thing !    Because  it's  a  thing  worth  doing !    We  love  only 


246  CEEATUKES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

once,  and  we  may  die  any  day.  Oh  !  Marka !  If  I*d  only 
waited  a  month  before  marrying  you  to  Mitia,  nothing 
of  this  would  have  happened.  Directly  after  the  death 
of  Anfisa  I  would  have  sent  my  friends  to  propose  for 
you,  and  all  would  have  been  right !  Right  before  the 
law ;  without  sin,,  without  shame.  That  was  my  mistake, 
and  this  mistake  will  take  away  from  me  five  or  ten 
years  of  my  life.  Such  a  mistake  as  that  makes  an  old 
man  of  one  before  one's  time." 

^ilaif  Petroff  spoke  with  decision,  but  quietly,  while 
an  expression  of  inflexible  determination  flashed  from 
his  face,  giving  him  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  was 
ready  then  and  there  to  fight  and  struggle  for  the  right 
to  love. 

"Well,  it's  all  right  now;  don't  trouble  yourself  any 
more.  We  have  talked  about  it  more  than  once  already," 
whispered  Marka,  freeing  herself  gently  from  his  arms, 
and  returning  to  her  oar. 

He  began  working  his  pole  backward  and  forward, 
rapidly  and  energetically,  as  if  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  the 
load  that  weighed  on  his  breast,  and  cast  a  shadow 
over  his  fine  face. 

Day  broke  gradually. 

The  clouds,  losing  their  density,  crept  slowly  away  on 
every  side,  as  if  reluctantly  giving  place  to  the  sunlight. 
The  surface  of  the  river  grew  lighter,  and  took  on  it 
the  cold  gleam  of  polished  steel. 

"Not  long  ago  he  talked  with  me  about  it.  'Father,' 
he  said,  'is  it  not  a  deadly  shame  for  you,  and  for  me? 
Give  her  up !'  He  meant  you,"  explained  Silan,  and 
smiled.     "  'Give  her  up,'  he  said ;  'return  to  the  right 


ON  A  EAFT  247 

path!'  'My  dear  son,*  I  said,  'go  away  if  you  want  to 
save  your  skin !  I  shall  tear  you  to  pieces  like  a  rotten 
rag!  There  will  be  nothing  left  of  your  great  virtue! 
It's  a  sorrow  to  me  to  think  that  I'm  your  father !  You 
puny  wretch !'  He  trembled.  'Father,'  he  said,  'am  I 
in  the  wrong?'  'You  are,'  I  said,  'you  whining  cur, 
because  you  are  in  my  way !  You  are,'  I  said,  'because 
you  can't  stand  up  for  yourself !  You  lifeless,  rotten 
carrion!  If  only,'  I  said,  'you  were  strong,  one  could 
kill  you ;  but  even  that  isn't  possible !  One  pities  you, 
poor,  wretched  creature  !'  He  only  wept.  Oh,  Marka ! 
This  sort  of  thing  makes  one  good  for  nothing.  Any 
one  else  would — would  get  their  heads  out  of  this  noose 
as  soon  as  possible,  but  we  are  in  it,  and  we  shall  per- 
haps tighten  it  round  each  other's  necks !" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Marka,  looking  at  him 
fearfully,  as  he  stood  there  grim,  strong  and  cold. 

"Nothing!  If  he  were  to  die!  That's  all.  If  he 
were  to  die — what  a  good  thing  it  would  be !  Every- 
thing would  be  straight  then !  I  would  give  all  my  land 
to  your  family,  to  make  them  shut  their  mouths;  and 
we  two  might  go  to  Siberia,  or  somewhere  far  away. 
They  would  ask,  'Who  is  she?'  'My  wife!  Do  you 
understand  ?' 

"We  could  get  some  sort  of  paper  or  document.  We 
could  open  a  shop  somewhere  in  a  village,  and  live. 
And  we  could  expiate  our  sin  before  God.  We  could 
help  other  people  to  live,  and  they  would  help  us  to 
appease  our  consciences.    Isn't  that  so,  Marsha?" 

"Yes,"  said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh,  closing  her  eyes  as 
if  in  thought. 


248  CREATURES  THAT  ONCE  WERE  MEN 

They  remained  silent  for  a  while;  the  water  mur- 
mured. 

"He  is  sickly.  He  will,  perhaps,  die  soon,"  said  Silan 
after  a  time, 

"Please  God  it  may  be  soon !"  said  Marka,  as  if  in 
prayer,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

The  rays  of  the  spring  sun  broke  through  the  clouds, 
and  touched  the  water  with  rainbow  and  golden  tints. 
At  the  breath  of  the  wind  all  nature  thrilled,  quickened, 
and  smiled.  The  blue  sky  between  the  clouds  smiled 
back  at  the  sun-warmed  waters.  The  raft,  moving  on, 
left  the  clouds  astern. 

Gathering  in  a  thick  and  heavy  mass,  they  hung  mo- 
tionless, and  dreaming  over  the  bright  river,  as  if  seek- 
ing a  way  to  escape  from  the  ardent  spring  sun,  which, 
rich  in  color  and  in  joy,  seemed  the  enemy  of  these 
symbols  of  winter  tempests. 

Ahead,  the  sky  grew  clearer  and  brighter,  and  the 
morning  sun,  powerless  to  warm,  but  dazzling  bright  as 
it  glitters  in  early  spring,  rose  stately  and  beautiful 
from  the  purple-gold  waves  of  the  river,  and  mounted 
higher  and  ever  higher  into  the  blue  limpid  sky.  On 
the  right  showed  the  brown,  high  banks  of  the  river, 
surmounted  by  green  woods;  on  the  left  emerald  green 
fields  glittered  with  dew  diamonds.  In  the  air,  floated 
the  smell  of  the  earth,  of  fresh  springing  grass,  blended 
with  the  aromatic  scent  of  a  fir  wood, 

Sergei  and  Mitia  stood  as  if  rooted  to  their  oars, 
but  the  expression  on  their  faces  could  not  be  distin- 
guished by  those  on  the  forward  part  of  the  raft. 

Silan  glanced  at  Marka, 


ON  A  EAFT  249 

She  was  cold.  She  leaned  forward  on  her  pole  in  a 
doubled-up  attitude.  She  was  looking  ahead  with  dream- 
ing eyes;  and  a  mysterious,  charming  smile  prayed  on 
her  lips — such  a  smile  as  makes  even  an  ugly  woman 
charming  and  desirable. 

"Look  ahead,  lads  !  Ahoy !  Ahoy !"  hailed  Silan, 
with  all  the  force  of  his  lungs,  feeling  a  powerful  pulse 
of  energy  and  strength  in  his  strong  breast. 

And  all  around  seemed  to  tremble  with  his  cry.  The 
echo  resounded  long  from  the  high  banks  on  either  side. 


THB  END 


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